I, Too
by H-Maude
Summary: Discontinued.
1. Three Steps at a Time

I don't like to clutter things up with notes (detailed ones are on my profile), but there are some warnings: Male greenriders (if you don't know the implications, please _do_ read some DRoP before perusal), language, and coy references. Enjoy.

I, Too  
Three Steps at a Time

It was a day like any old day. That meant it was real old since we're talking 'bout S'lem. And let me tell you, that dragonrider's so old, I can't tell his blue was a blue anymore the one time I saw it flying. Which, well, it doesn't do much no more, it being so rickety 'n all. Even then, I could see the other riders betting good half-marks on him not clearing the ground.

Just in case I gotta spell it out for you, no one's love for S'lem stretched further than your little finger. 'Cept for mine. I loved that old bastard the way some people loved on their felines; to anyone else who snuck a peek, they'd think they weren't missing nothing. But, of course, they'd be as wrong as men tangling and expecting to pop a baby from the way they were smiling. Sometimes, they'd be right on target 'cause that cat was being the biggest prig for all that was good and well on Pern. And that was how S'lem was being right about now and for the last three hours.

He'd been droning from sunup 'bout some sonnet he'd unearthed from the tunnels, swearing that the Ancients had written it and dropping several hints about how privileged we were to get to hear it. Like Bessim, I was wishing and praying to good Faranth that he'd just read the thing and be done with it. Unlike Bessim, I wasn't sleeping through half his speech out of respect, and unlike me, Bessim didn't know that respect existed. Favrielle blew me out of the water; she was practically swaying, completely enraptured with whatever gibberish S'lem was spewing.

Believe me, that wasn't even the worst of it, 'cause afterwards, he swept some self-satisfied monkey bow, peeking out of the part of his hair as if he wanted some clapping. To tell you the truth, I didn't even hear half of what he said, regardless of actually understanding it. Little Favrielle kinda saved me from some of S'lem's glaring simply since she didn't know any better, and practically tripped herself with whistles and applause. In the end, I think Bessim must've been the best at cheering, he was snoring so sharding loud. Can't say I blame him. When all that was said and done, taking its sweet time at it, S'lem creaked his old back up and glared at me anyway.

"Now for the proof that the boys in this class have capable ears. Rosen."

I jumped. S'lem's funny voice made everything sharp. "Yessir."

"Did you by chance unearth a characteristic of the sonnet in my, ah, blathering?"

I kept thinking that a sonnet had fourteen lines, but didn't want to say it 'cause all the while I was wondering why they didn't just call a sonnet 'a-fourteen-liner' or something simpler. I saw Favrielle falling off her chair with her hand raised blurry in the background, but that wasn't what saved me. S'lem cocked his head like always when he was talking to his blue and waved all three of us off, thank Faranth, but not before smacking Bessim on the head mid-snore. "Cosseth doesn't appreciate those who don't listen to his rider."

Bessim apparently didn't give the tip of Faranth's tail for what Cosseth thought; all he cared about was that S'lem had hit him and not me, and that anything bad that happened to him and not me meant that I was now the biggest walking target in the universe. Just to prove my point, he turned his great, lardy head towards me with eyes so small and squinty I swear that it ain't possible for daggers t'be made sharper.

Faranth, I was so screwed.

I think that was when I took off flying, balls-out and everything, forgetting about bowing and thanking S'lem for dismissing class early so I wouldn't have to make a fool of myself, tripping over Favrielle and nearly mulling drudges into fine wine as they carried fresh hampers of bread towards the crèche. I'd like to take it that Bessim's descent trumped my gracelessness tenfold since he actually bulldozed the overburdened babes.

I'd like to say the rest is history, but S'lem would probably kill me, skin me, and floss his teeth with my hide if I told a story skipping the middle. It's kinda unfair though, since it felt like a beginning _and_ an ending all smashed together at once. But then again, that coulda just been my face smashed against the wall. It's hard to tell the difference when you're getting beat bad enough to swear the Dawn Sisters were dancing gavotte for you, y'know.

"Thought choo'd be funny, eh, ickle Rosee?"

"Sure did." Shards on me and my big fat mouth.

That earned me another fat wallop, and I could feel something warm dribbling from my nose. I sure hoped it wasn't bogies, and it wasn't 'cause bogies weren't red. That seemed to make Bessim happy; I could tell because he loosed the grip on my neck. Sort of.

"Sucking up to S'lem 'gain? Shards, Rose, you might as well go all the way and make us all happier."

Shards, I wanted to say, you're sure getting all finessey on me, Bessy. I was glad I didn't, or else I would've missed the footsteps coming down the hall.

I think Faranth was liking me today.

Whatever I heard or was dreaming, Bessy sure was missing. I heard it stop, probably looking at me, and say, "Faranth's tits, get your ass up. You're_so _sharding pathetic I wouldn't even want to muck out stalls with your guts."

And let me tell you, I've heard some riders swear, but what they said was like chump change compared to how this guy was putting it. His vowels were all hard and edgy, and I thought I'd kiss Bessy for holding me up so I wouldn't fall into the cracked glass of them, and the way he said them pissed me off more than S'lem's ranting and Bessy beating me up fifteen times over and shaping my bloody remains into a cannonball and launching me halfway to the moon and letting me fall back down into a latrine hole. I must've snarled or something, 'cause Bessy twitched back and made a move to hit me again. He never got to. I loosed myself and for a moment, all I could feel was my fists digging into the soft of his belly until he was sick and threw up whatever he had for breakfast all over me in a warm, theatrical stream. Instead of leaping on him and giving him what he'd been giving me ever since I crossed my eyes at him five Turns ago, I pulled my hands free and ran after that lowlife dung heap that'd thought to say to me what he said.

I ran for what seemed like forever 'till I figured out I had no idea where I was and which way he went. It helped me get un-pissy, and soon I was walking and my face got back to its normal color and everything aside from whatever Bessim dumped on me. Which was all fine and good and rotten peachy, thanks. The voices was what finally made me stop, and I almost bowed and started stuttering when I figured out who was doing the talking.

"Good afternoon. I didn't realize I had a visitor."

That had to be F'lar, his voice was so sharding perfect in every way. Even if he was pissed off 'cause some other person was bothering him, he didn't let it leak out and drown anyone. At very least not much.

"Your watchdragon called. I merely let myself in quietly."

"Oh my, a spy?" I could imagine his brows lifting and fought not to laugh. I felt so sorry for whoever was on the receiving end of F'lar's oh-so-subtle sarcasm. "Never mind. Why did you find the need to let yourself in, ah, 'quietly'?"

"It wasn't a need. I—" I could practically hear the poor soul collecting himself. "I'm here to ask on T'ron's behalf if you needed any candidates for your latest clutch."

"T'ron's…" A pause. "Well, our Search has been very successful as of late, and I'm sure we'll have enough candidates. But, please. _Do_ thank your Weyrleader for his generosity."

Dismissal was practically implied with every syllable, and the smart thing to do would probably be bowing and kissing F'lar's feet and leaving. But this little bugger was either a fool or T'ron a mighty big arse with a broom shoved up it for making him do what he was doing. "But you have thirty-eight eggs. Certainly the Holders aren't willing to part with that many."

"But apparently, they are. My apologies to T'ron." I heard shuffling chairs. F'lar must've gotten up. And being the numb dimglow I was, I didn't move until the door was open and F'lar was at it, showing the other idiot out. His amber eyes flashed, and I was now busy praying to Faranth and Carenath and wondering how I got into this mess before I heard the person being booted out and I could tell by his footsteps that he was the bastard in the hallway. I wanted to smash that good-for-nothing shitferface, but never got to 'cause F'lar patted me solicitously. "Why, here's one of those candidates now! Could you please show, ah…?"

"M'low." He snapped curtly, and for a second I was back in the hallway above the shards of his vowels.

"M'low! Of course. Could you please show M'low out?" His head cocked the way I was supposed to go, and I think my face must've seemed like some kid's who got locked in the bubbly pie vault. I bowed like, fifty times and smiled and almost tried to grab his hand and kiss it. "Yessir!"

"Good." F'lar turned around and shut the door, and I stood there staring with my mouth half open for forever until M'low or whatever he was called cleared his throat. "I would prefer not to have my bones moldering in Benden 'till the end of time." He said, like those people who pretend to be polite and suck at it. I wondered where his horrible vowels went and took to stare at him, and that's when I forgot about wanting to beat the dung out of him, not 'cause he was pretty or anything, 'cause he wasn't, but because he looked so sharding familiar that I was probably gonna tear my hair out trying t'figure out where I'd seen him before. I guess I gotta do him some justice, so here it is: His hair was red and curly and snaked about his honey-colored face in wild tendrils like seaweed. His face dotted all over with brown freckles without no pattern or nothing, and the other thing they was good for ('side from making him look like a cockatoo) was bringing out those huge gray-blue eyes.

"Well?" He said, sounding about a hair's width nicer. "Show me the way."

I kept staring and he sighed, his brow skewing like he being made to swallow arsenic or something just as bad. "If you please."

"Oh," I said, "sorry." And I finally started walking like I was supposed to be doing all along. When we were out of earshot from F'lar, I could hear him laughing, and I swore that if it was at me, I'd smack him for it, familiar or not. "What?"

"You got him good, didn't you? I can smell his barf on you." He had sped up to walk beside me, and I could see his nose wrinkling. But mostly, all I got from his face was this huge smile.

"Sure did." The rest of my anger pulled a Hoodini on me, and suddenly both me and him were grinning like mad catfish who'd known each other for years. We could've for all I knew.

"You aren't a candidate, are you?" He asked, incredulous. I could tell he wasn't really good at hiding what he really thought, like F'lar.

"Guess I am." I looked at him smiling, but he didn't notice. He was staring down now, thinking. S'lem would say it was no one's business but his own, and I'd say I want to know sharding now what you're thinking and you better tell me before I break your neck, but didn't. Finally, he broke the silence. "Lucky you." He said, sounding so wistful that it twisted me into a pretzel with the works.

"B-but you're a rider already. You don't need t'be worrying no more."

"_Anymore_." He muttered, but I pretended not to hear him. "You're lucky you got in like that, being at the right place at the right time. Some people would kill for that chance."

The words _like me_ hovered like a curse, but we then we both got out into the Weyrbowl and there were so many people and dragons around we weren't thinking about talking no—anymore. He looked up, the wind making his hair an award-winning parody, and I could tell he was talking to his dragon the way he his eyes got sort of foggy. On the cliffs a green blob stirred and winked out, appearing directly above us. I screamed bloody murder and rolled out of the way before it could squash me flat, but it landed right next to M'low where I hadn't been standing, the dust rolling away in little dramatic poofies. I bet somewhere someone was making money off of me for the number of times I had looked like an idiot that day, and the only thing I could thank Faranth for was that M'low hadn't been paying any attention to me. He met his green in the eye and smiled, and unless you happened to be a rock, that smile would melt your heartstrings into a huge twisty wad. "Show-off." He murmured. I saw the dragon couldn't've care less the way her eyes were whirling, all big and blue and happy. And suddenly, M'low must've realized I existed again 'cause he said, all dreamy-like, "Rose."

"Yeah?" It hadn't occurred to me then to ask how he knew my name. From the hallway, I guessed.

"Want to ride Vivianth?" It sounded teary, but I couldn't see his face so I wasn't sure.

"Uh, if you're going with me, sure."

"Of course." He pulled himself onto the neck and motioned for me. I think I gaped for a little bit before scuttling on, wrapping my arms awkwardly around M'low's middle. It hadn't been my first time on a dragon, (I'd helped with small errands here or there, and it _was_ Benden, after all) but it had to be the best. M'low hadn't been kidding about his Vivanth being a show-off; she was and knew she was like she knew her own hide. She could turn like a madman and go fast enough to make it feel like my cheeks were flying off to grease some frying pan down below. And I screamed (more than once) when it seemed like we was going to spear ourselves on some rock before she would dart away, shooting towards the deep blue something again and again and again. I think she was trying to impress me, and by Faranth, she made a thorough job of it. Well, at least enough to have me stagger-tripping after I got off her back and onto the ground.

M'low's cheeks were red and raw from the wind, but mostly with that grin that splitting his face in two. It shrank a little as he mock-saluted me, leaning forward to say, "Good-bye." But before he could finish off everything with an oh-so-theatrical exit into the sunset, I just happened to ruin it all and shout, "WAIT!"

He halted, and that's finally when the cheesy background music stopped. 'Bout time if you asked me. "Hm?"

I gulped and swallowed and couldn't quite remember what I was going to ask and finally blurted, "Will I see you again?"

He stared at me a little, and laughed. "This wasn't enough? We'll have to see, won't we?" He waggled his brows and urged Vivianth up and up and out. He had let his vowels slip, and I loved him all the more for it.

Yeah, 'cause you asked, I guess I was going a little insane.

* * *

Apparently riding on a dragon all day tires you out like riding a runner does, except you had to be bulldozed while juggling a couple of obese wherry-fens when you're at it, and I was plumb tuckered out when I finally made it all the way back to the crèche and onto my scratchy cot like it was no one's business that I smelled like I had been actually doing the juggling. It ended up being that it was, 'cause Momma Belinda smacked me awake and snarled at me to take a bath before I could put one toe in her room again without it being diced and stewed. And I had to drag my sorry self all the way to the pools, not realizing that it was, like, ten feet away. It coulda been a million dragonlengths for all I cared, and by the time I got there and in the water I was practically sleepwalking. The water was all foam and heat, and I guess I fell asleep 'cause when I opened my eyes again, all I saw was little Favrielle goosepimply and naked in front of me staring. It didn't really matter 'cause her hair covered everything that I shouldn't've been seeing, and, Faranth, she was the ugliest three-Turn-old thing in the world. And the second she saw me staring she darn gave me one of those glares that Belinda had t'have taught her.

"I'm going to tell Belinda you're staring at me naked."

Like I wanted to. "And I'm gonna tell her you're standing there lettin' me."

She kept on standing there gawking at me like I was a freakshow on display, and that didn't make me none too happy so I sat up and glared at her. "What d'you want? It's the middle of the night, y'know."

"I saw you walking with a red-haired man."

"M'low? What about him?" S'lem would've given me a big conk on the head for the way all my words were slurring, and I almost flinched by reflex. Favrielle jerked once she heard the name, muttering, "Belinda says my father was a red-haired man." She could've been singing opera for all I knew, and she walked away like she hadn't even talked to me to begin with. I blessed Carenath for the hundredth time that day 'cause my feet were starting to feel like raisins.

Anyway, I managed to get up and out and decent before heading back to my foster mother's, and I was groping for my cot in the dark before I was grabbed by two great piles of rising dough and, sweet Faranth, squeezed for all I was worth. I was cursing something bad, and finally the blob spoke before I started to get real nasty with it.

"Rose, you'd better watch that tongue b'fore I done slice it off that dirty mouth of your's, boy."

I stopped thrashing like a dying carp. "Momma 'linda?"

"How'ya doin'?"

"What'choo hugging me for? I thought you was mad about me smelling like sh—"

"Rose, Rose, ba—by. I just heard 'bout you becoming a candidate. Honey…I'm so proud. I'm gonna make you some bubbly pies tomorrow. Just you and me and Favrielle. A little Gather of our own, what d'you say?"

Oh, that. Suddenly, I was all happy again, mostly 'cause I remember when I first got fostered here and Belinda had said that I was a skinny, worthless bag of bones not even good enough for the porridge pot. 'Why don'tcha look at me now?' I wanted to say, but what I really said was, "Don't you worry 'bout it, Momma, but what I'd really like's some sleep right about now."

"Oh. I'm SO sorry, honey." She set me down and dusted me like I was some precious vase. "You go on and get your sleep. See you in the morning."

"G'night, Momma."

"'Night."

Since I've some time 'n all, I guess I should tell you a little about myself. And before you start getting turned off an' ditch me as fast as you can run, let me tell you that it ain't one of them boo-hoo sob-stories, and there ain't much to it either. My name's not Rose, Rosen, or "ickle Rosee" but "Rosenfield." Just Rosenfield. Apparently, it's a lot to say because no one ever says the entire thing, the lazy—well. It's been seven Turns since the Ballad of Lessa's Ride came out and made its route and thirteen Turns that I've been at Benden. How I came to Benden's that simple, too. My parents were Beastcrafters on some little cothold off to the side of Benden Weyr that I forgot the name of, and when I was three they decided they had too many mouths to feed. They hitched a caravan down here, practically shoving my scrawny self into Momma Belinda's gigantic hands. Guess I was the unlucky runt of the litter, but I ain't trying to have a pity-party. So I grew up in Benden, mostly doing what Belinda did: cooking and herding. The first thing I "had no aptitude for," as S'lem would say, which would be the nice way of saying that I could blow up little canine puppies with a redfruit and five fellis petals better than I could do it, and the second thing I was pretty much decent at. Like Momma Belinda said, I looked like a herding canine anyways since I was underfoot so much. Me and her drove each other half-mad just about all the time, and I was lucky that I didn't get turned into stuffing before I was thirteen (Bessim saw to that most of the time anyway) 'cause that's when Belinda got Favrielle, the baby girl she'd wanted all along. T'tell you the truth though, Favrielle could, and still can probably, scare a no-wit in the dark without even trying 'cause she never did nothing girly like playing Family and sewing. 'Stead, she'd spend her time hanging out with S'lem more than what was good for anyone and the rest of it muttering. To make the last three Turns mighty shorter than what they actually were, I kept away from Favrielle best I could, tried not to break anything when Bessim hit me, and got pretty good at not pissing off Momma too bad. And that's what I've been doing for the last thirteen Turns, and until today, tonight, whatever time it was, it seemed like what I would be doing for the rest of my life.

The moral of the story was that things change, but it'd take a bit for me to figure out whether I liked the change or not.

* * *

Oh, did I forget t'tell you? Change. Sharding. BLOWS. I'd give anything I own, which isn't a lot, just to go back to prancing in the meadow with Sukey and Bessie and Peter and chewing cud with the lot of them. But by the time Birto had me hacking at carcass-of-dead-animal-that-coulda-been-Sukey, I knew it was too late for wishing and hoping. 

Alright, alright, back to the beginning before S'lem really does string me on the rafters by my entrails. My day started out okay, aside from my entire body aching like someone had been using my intestines as gitar strings, and I had the clever idea of going down and telling S'lem 'bout me becoming a candidate and all. When I finally got there, (it took bloomin' bloody ages) he looked like someone had found the fountain of youth or something. He wasn't leaping up and down and squeezing me half to death like Belinda was, but his face was that and about fifty times more. "My boy," was all the said, and that was enough to have me bawling against his smelly old shirt. He let me, patting me on the back and singing wordlessly. He was smart enough to let me go before I felt like the biggest baby in the world, but I wished that I hadn't looked at his face 'cause his smile was enough to make me fall back down to his shirt collar all over again.

I had a feeling like a whopper of a lecture was about to happen, so I plunked my not-quite cried-out self down on a nearby chair and stared at him for a bit. He started by sighing and rubbing at an eye. "…getting teary myself…" 'S what I heard, but I ain't too sure 'cause S'lem never cries. Then he straightened and looked me in the eye. "I figured the path of dusty tomes and lettering was never for you even before this, and because of that I thought you'd be completely useless, as smelly hides and pressed wood pulp are to me what blood is to your veins. But," He lifted a finger when I looked like I was about to protest, "But I had never imagined you becoming, of all things, a dragonrider, perhaps the greatest utility that was ever borne aloft by mankind's musings." He paused and took a deep breath like he was about to say something that looked like it was going to kill him. And finally, he let it rip all in a rush. "Yes, yes, even better than the sonnet, I do have to admit. But there is one. One I haven't found time to share with you yet, and this. _This_ will be something no ballad of dragonkind will ever surpass, even if it eventually happens to be about you, dear boy."

Whoo-whee. I hadn't even made castles on the Sands yet and you see how he's a-ramblin'. I gulped and nodded and tried to look serious, but really, on the inside, I was doing flips with the butterflies. S'lem gave me his patented "whatever" glare and creaked his way up and over to a table, where he rummaged for forever and came up with a seriously ratty yellow sheet of something. I could tell by the way he was holding it with both hands and never taking his eyes off of it that it was something precious. He held it out to me, and I tried my darndest to copy him, taking it with both hands and all that. That wasn't good enough 'cause he tried to take it back, but thought better of it and pushed it towards me. I gave it a good look, and all I saw was some faded words that I had to squint myself teary to read, and caught the word sonnet in there someplace before S'lem's hand patted my shoulder approvingly. I didn't look up, 'cause if I did, I knew I would let the waterworks fly.

"Oh, and by the way," He sounded shy, like he was close to poking some ugly crawler without knowing how bad it would bite him yet, and scratched at the grizzle that matted his chin, "I would like to thank you for, ah, solving that problem I've been having for the last few Turns."

"You mean Bes—"

He wagged a finger at me, and I clamped that fool mouth of mine shut, but not before noticing that gigantic smile that made me tingle all over. But before I could really start to wallow in the cheese of it, there was a knock at the door. S'lem must've jumped dragonlengths and hit the ceiling, and when he was back down he gave me a good glare. "You know I disapprove of fighting, young man, but your work has been absolutely divine, and for that, I shall ghost over other grievances. However, be sure to calm your hostilities, or I cannot assure you of your future." He slid that sheet-of-something from my hand, motioning that he was gonna keep it for me. "Dismissed."

I had to high-tail it out of there, 'cause if I stayed I would blow both of us, I was laughing so hard on the inside, but hardly made it to the door before it opened. A face as plain as mine peeked at me. "S'lem?"

"Pellomar. What a_lovely_ surprise."

"I'm here to take Rosenfield to his candidate chores."

"Those things? I can hardly imagine anything more thrilling. Do go on then." He waved Pellomar off, not even looking at him. He _did_ have an image to maintain, I s'ppose, and I was smilin' at his backside before realizing that his jaw was clenched, and Pellomar gave the fish eye before motioning for me to follow him. I did, and we tramped about the halls in a hurry for a while. All the while he was looking at me funny, and since he was I stared at him right back, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "I can't quite figure out your sire and dam."

It was some kinda random, and he sounded forced and strangled and snooty all at once, but I guess he was just trying to not mess this up too bad, and the silence was getting kind of awkward, so I said, "Well, actually, S'lem says my pa—sire was named Rose and my dam Field , and he shoved some seeds into her an' out popped me."

It was a lame joke; he knew it, I knew it, Rukbat prob'ly knew it and was pointing and laughing, but it made things a whole heck of a lot easier for him to hate me, I guess, 'cause he gave me this look like he was having a cow and ten babes on top of that. I cleared my throat and tried to start over, saying, all the while making sure that my syllables were good and spaced out like he was doing, "I can't believe I'm really a candidate." It _had_ been an on-the-spot thing, after all, and I pinched myself for getting everyone pumped about it before I actually made sure F'lar hadn't forgotten or something.

"Really? I've known I would be ever since my foster mother told me my sire was a bronzerider." His chest got all poofy, and I knew he was on a whole other level from me. I mean, I was pretty sure my pa didn't have any pretty-shiny dragon tied up in one of them runner stalls. "What do you think you'll Impress?" _If you Impress at all_.

Nope. Just herdbeasts in that stable.

"I don't know." I said without thinking, "Maybe a green." I thought about M'low's Vivianth and how cool it'd be if I could ride something like that every day. But that, too, was cracked into little bitty pieces and had a jumping contest held on it, 'cause Pellomar went and said, "A _green_?" like there had never been no such thing.

"Yeah, a green. What of it?"

He scoffed. "I'm going to Impress a bronze."

I wanted to get all in his face and tell him to shove them words back where they came from, but never got to 'cause I would've ran into the candidatemaster. And this guy—Faranth. Would you believe me if I told you this guy looked like S'lem, talked like him too, but was a million times worse? Eh, probably not, and you'd have good reason not to, 'cause he was T'ron's arse with the broom in it, except with so much in you could hardly see the bristles sticking out.

"So, you thought to finally join us today, Rosenfield?"

I could smell Pellomar's smile, but I kept my head good and high like S'lem always said to and said, hoping it came out even, "Yessir."

"Late to me is as good as never, dearest. I don't run the crèche." That got some laughs.

"I know you don't—sir." I was trying to stay cool as you please, but it was gettin' awful hard.

"You _knew_ something? Good for you. Maybe now you won't have to do those extra chores I reserve for those that don't…think." He smiled, and that had to have been the worst thing I'd ever seen, and the sad thing was I actually knew what he wanted from me 'cause of it. It took a huge breath to get it out, though.

"I'll do them sir." I blurted, and it didn't sound like me talking.

"Good. Now sit down." He snapped the last few words, and I was more than happy to oblige. I scattered like a crawler to the light, planting myself as far away from the 'master as I could get, hoping my face wasn't too red or my hands shaking or my nose… bleeding? I smelled blood, and finally had the sense to look around. And boy, I thought I'd pass out right then and there, hatin' master or no, 'cause there was a huge, bloody mound of something dead right in front of me. I never got 'round to screaming like a banshee, because someone next to me shoved a knife at me, handle first. And right then, that seemed like the biggest favor in the world.

My face must've grew less clenchy, because he smiled. "You alright?"

"Gonna be." I hoped I was telling the truth.

"Good. G'len probably would yell at you more if you passed out." He looked thoughtful. "He usually isn't _this _bad."

"Yeah," I said, wanting to believe him. "What's with the knife?"

"Oh. We need to cut the meat into pieces about this small," He gestured in midair for me. "Any bigger and 'master will give you a wallop." The last part he whispered, but still I thought more of him for it.

"What's your name?" I whispered right back.

"Birto."

"Nice to meetcha."

"Same." His smile grew, and he winked. I'd liked to have talked with him more, but he turned back to cutting meat like all he was worth. It did help that he whispered that if I made my meat bigger than it was supposed to be, G'len swore he'd starve you for a sevenday. Smaller, and he would force you to do everyone's mucking for Faranth-knew-how-long. I stared at the carcass stupidly, not wanting to touch it or be associated with it in any way, and Faranth answered my prayer. G'len shouted for everyone to stop and go wash up to get ready for the lesson, but not before glancing towards me.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You do know, Rosenfield, that the meat was for your supper. 'Those who don't work don't eat,' I'm sure you remember from your days in S'lem's nursery."

I bit down on my lip, drawing blood to keep from saying nothing besides a, "Yessir," as crisp and sharp as knives. Not to mention that I'd like a knife down his throat right about now, but that wasn't gonna happen.

The rest of the day didn't go any better. G'len herded us all into a really small room and started to talk to us about Impression, responsibilities, and stuff that a six-Turn old could probably explain better than him. He called me out every second my lids got even the teeniest bit droopy and made me recite all the dung he was spouting. Which, I couldn't do, obviously, which earned me three more sets of chores and no breakfast either. All the while, Pellomar was lookin' like he'd Impressed the biggest doggone bronze, and Birto was looking sympathetic, but really doing nothing to help. By the end, everyone ('side from Pell and his cronies) was giving me the teary eye, and I was about ready to have a good cry myself.

"…welcome Hatchlings with the warmth of affection and admiration, whilst turning… That's all I remember."

"At least you got more than two words, like last time." A pretty sigh. "Oh well. No dinner, I suppose?"

I lifted a fist, but heard Birto's soft, "Don't," and put that thing right back where it came from. "Yessir." I knew I sounded as strangled as I looked.

"Space out your words more. It's not 'YESSUH' all crammed in at once."

More giggles from Pellomar. "Yes sir."

"Good."

At sunset, after four sets of extra chores and no supper, I was wishing that I'd listened more closely to S'lem's "joke." But, again, it was a mite too late for that.

* * *

"What's he got against you?"

I hardly twitched a lid at the question, trying to sleep off hunger. "Wha--?"

"I said, 'what's he got against you?'"

I opened a miserable eye and saw Birto, looking worried. "I 'unno. Maybe I smell bad or somethin'." I stretched, and wish I hadn't. Everything hurt, even muscles and tendons and whatever else was in there that I never knew existed. Sleeping on a cot big enough for a babe didn't help much, either.

"That's not it. Be serious." He looked me in the eye, face all hard. But then he sighed, smiling. "You really think he'd make you do all that stuff and yell at you just because you _smell bad_?"

"Yeah." I said, rubbing an eye. "Why not? Or maybe it's 'cause I'm ugly or have bad breath or—" I couldn't say no more, 'cause Birto was laughing like that was the best joke in the world. Somehow, that made me smile even if I was hungry and tired and as sore as if I'd been used as animal fodder and spat back up and chewed ten times over.

Aside from the happy times like that, candidacy ain't no joke, and don't you for one measly second think it is. I shoveled more crap, cleaned more rooms, and got yelled at more times for one sevenday under G'len than in my whole entire sixteen Turns. Oh, and I spent more than half of it eating near nothing, thanks. Birto, besides being nice and all, was useless. He never snuck me no food or busted me out of somethin' even if I would for him in a heartbeat. I did, too, and got to stand in a corner, my nose touching the wall with no food, water, or people talking to me for 'till sunset. The sun was just starting to rise, too. During that, I wasn't allowed to see no one, 'cause G'len probably thought I'd conspire with S'lem to have him overthrown or something. There was good ol' Pell, too, don't let me forget him. He made everything, oh, about a million plus one times worse. He'd laugh every, single, bloomin' time I messed up, and G'len didn't do nothing about it. He'd stand there and let him with this little smirk on his face like I deserved every minute of it.

I'll tell you what I did: I sucked it right up and took it like a man, which I thought was the point of it all. But, since Faranth has a crush on me an' all, it wasn't. I had to crack sometime, and it's not something I'd like to tell you about 'cause I'd probably win 'the biggest dimglow in the universe award' if I did. Anyway, it all started the start of the second sevenday of happy-happy, joy-joy. Already I was woozy and drifting off while we were supposed to be mucking out the field dragon food was kept in, and my best friend Pell decided to shove me in one of the bigger heaps of manure. Apparently, I just laid in it for a bit thinkin' how blessed I was t'be getting a nap in the middle of the day b'fore I done realized that he'd just done what he just did. I got up, brushed myself off good 'n clean, and rushed at Pell like a wet feline that hadn't been fed for a sevenday. He wasn't expecting it; I saw his eyes bulging, and I tore at everything I could using not my muscle (Faranth knows they were shriveled) but all the crap I'd taken from him, that bastard G'len, and even F'lar for getting me into this tunnel of dung that I couldn't dig myself out of no more. The watchdragon called for some strange reason, and as if on cue his friends all jumped me too, mostly trying to pull me off but all the while roughing me up. An elbow in the eye, fists at my back, head, and below the belt, too, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to throttle Pell and give him bruises to show the ladies. His neck was too thick for me to get a good grip on, so I went to punching his face. Again, I hadn't eaten for a good three days, and my advantage was gone in about five seconds. He was on me, and we rolled over and over again hitting each other best we could with as much hate as star-crossed lovers had love. He got the best of me and ended up on top, smacking me harder than old Bessy had ever smacked me, and I did my best to cover up my eyes like I used to; someone had said they were the best part about me once-upon-a-time. Yeah, I'm getting random now, but then again, it felt like it was the end of my life anyhoo, and I might as well remember the best parts of it before I go and kick the bucket. My foot was mighty close, I can tell ya, but for some reason the hitting stopped. I opened one eye just barely and saw Pellomar a few feet away with his eyes wide enough to pass as a moon or something. Then, I looked up and saw why.

M'low was standing right above me.

"M'low?" G'len blurted like he was worried about something. Like he ever had to; all he had to do was starve 'em to death and he'd get anything he wanted out of 'em.

"Next time you say my name, I'll carve your lips off good 'n pretty and give 'em to T'ron on a plate."

"B-but…why'd…is_that_ why you left me?"

"No, you _fool_." He stretched the 'ool' all good and long, and I'd be smilin' if my face didn't hurt so bad. "You already know why as I can see. Now why don't you take the rest of your pets," I heard footsteps, and had to look up to see this. M'low strode towards G'len, and even though he was about a head shorter, stood up good and tall and pushed him back hard enough to make G'len stumble, "and leave." He whispered it, his voice all silk and snake all at once, and even G'len scuttled off in a hurry.

He looked towards me now, and I flinched, not wanting some of that at me, but his face softened and he kneeled down, saying, "Rose, Rose," all the while. I wanted t'tell him that my name was Rosenfield, but all I got out was, "Hey, I got to see you again."

Everything went black.


	2. Don't Get Lost in Heaven

I apologize for the long delay in updating. Please enjoy.

* * *

I, Too  
Don't Get Lost in Heaven

* * *

_Rats was afraid, so very afraid, but Rats could never say so. "Go in," they said, told him, made him, "Go in and take and bring." Rats was afraid of going, but even more afraid of _them_. But Rats never said so. "Go in and take and bring." He went._

"How unfortunate, so _very_ unfortunate, my dear Mellow."

"Don't call me that."

_It was dark, quiet. Rats could hear no people, but snuffed anyway to see. Nothing but Rats. Go faster, faster. There's no one. He went faster. Feet, big feet, stomping, angry. Rats smelled blood. Other way, other way. There's no one. Other way till all Rats could hear was Rats' heart beating. Faster, faster. _

"And why not? It's rather endearing, don't you think? And why have you not an affectionate title for me?"

"You—"

"Oh, pardon _me_. The reason's lying right next to you and I _still_ ask. Forgive me, darling—it was rather hard to distinguish him from the sheets, he's so lumpy. I never thought you were into violent play."

"_Shut up_, N'cah."

"Why won't he wake? I would like to exchange friendly banter with what was capable of snaring the great M'low's affections. Here, let me help."

_Tap, tap. Rats ran, far, far away. Ran till the pain went away. A little. He snuffed. Bread? No, flour. The big bag was open. Go in and take and bring. Rats went. Bite the flour, chew the flour, spit out the flour. He remembered bread, mountains and mountains of bread, stacked end to end and top to bottom. An entire room of bread. He drooled. Rats was hungry, so very hungry, but he could never say so. He remembered food, lots and lots of food, all given to him by a friendly face with whiskers. But _they_ had talked Whiskers down the mountain, made his leg stump turn red and blue and green with stink. It had been a bad, bad stink. Rats wrinkled his nose. It stunk so bad that Rats had went away. "Go in and take and bring." Flour was not bread. He went away. He was hungry _now

"Don't touch him, or…"

"Or else? Aren't we a wee too old for childish threats? Oh, excuse me. I _do_ go on awful tangents, don't I? What I _was_ saying before being so rudely deterred was informing you of my glowing report of your, ah, _beloved_ to T'ron. A pity it is, because now I have to go back and disparage your woeful lack of taste in _boys_ rather than men."

"He's more man than you'll ever be."

_Trap, trap. Rats smelled blood, lots and lots of blood. He heard big foot walking, stomping away. Rats wanted to run, run far, far away. Mash into corner, eyes closed. He made himself small, so small that big foot couldn't hear him and pull him back into pain and blood. Big foot walked right by. Rats' heart beating, faster, faster. Blood everywhere. Lots and lots of blood._

"Is he more so than T'kul, too? Is that even possible?"

"_You'd_ know."

"What was that?"

"Shut up, N'cah."

"I thought so. Your lump bleeds too much. Think he'll live?"

"He has to. Faranth…he _has _to."

_Rats heard crying, smelled the salt in the air. Stupid, so stupid. Crying was worth nothing, only wasted good water that could be drunk instead. Blood and salt and tears; stink. Other way, other way. _No_. Rats wouldn't go away. Little feet, pitter-patter, closer and closer._

"My, oh my. And I thought you got worked up about S'lem's exile.

"I—that…I was_ not_ worked up. _This _is completely different, so—"

"Shut. Up. N'cah! _Faranth_, he _has_ to _get more creative_. The only thing you won't let walk on top of you is a mere _boy_ for crying out loud."

"I'd rather have a boy walk all over me than let T'kul have his way with me."

"_Don't you dare_."

"Oh, but I _dare_."

_Rats snuffed. It was blood, as usual. Blood and stink, and something hiding underneath it like a brained wherry. The smell of BREAD. BREAD, and something else that Rats could not remember. But it was good, and that was all Rats cared about. Closer and closer. Digging, scrabbling at the bread. It smelled so good, so very good and Rats was so hungry. One bite. Just one bite. "Go in and take and bring." But Rats was hungry _now. _He sighed. Dig again, pull out the strange smell. It was a sweet stink now, the smell of soured fruit and sunshine. A bite. Just a bite that no one would miss. "Go in and take and bring." He bit, almost gagging on its sweetness. The fruit was still warm, the crust flaking like crumbling cinders. He chewed, trying to go slowly, and it was gone. So fast. Another bite. Another bite that no one would miss. _

"At least I don't whore myself out to children."

"This isn't WHORING."

"Then, pray tell, what is it? Come, spit it out, _it_ preferably not any of that idealistic crap you pull out of your ass."

"Is friendship completely FOREIGN to you? There's more to life than just…_bedding_, you know.

"It's funny, as your actions so _wonderfully_ justify your words. Look at him_ blush_! Before you ask, yes, _everyone_ knows what you do."

"Y-you…"

"_You can have it."_

_It was the stink. It was dirty and ugly and had blood all down its face that was dried and crusted. Its hair was matted; nails uncut and its eyes were hollow. Like Rats'. Kill it. Little feet, pitter-patter, closer and closer, and break its neck. A snap. One little snap that no one would miss._

"But that's me."

"Now you've done it! Get out, I won't have you ruining everything I've worked for."

"Darling, you've gone and done a fine job of that yourself."

"_I guess I was saving 'um for something, but I don't see no point no more."_

_It came closer. Rats could see the bruises all over Its face, purple and black and blue, knew that they would never go away. Other way, other way. _

"BUT THAT'S ME!"

"Well, then. I'll be taking my leave."

"GET OUT!"

Everything felt like Faranth'd been taking her time chewing my bones and guts long and slow, and that's an understatement. I ain't good with words to begin with, and since being dragon cud didn't help, I don't got no words to say how SHARDING awful everything hurt. And to top it all off, M'low wouldn't stop shaking and shaking me, and I swore I could hear my bones clinking together. "Could'ya STOP IT already?" I was trying to sound mean, but it hardly even came out. My throat was on fire, and not one of them little lame match-sticky 'uns, but something big and roaring and spraying sparks like felines pissing. My eyes were glued shut with something, and I managed to claw free of M'low for one stinking second to rub 'em loose. I brushed my face, and wished I hadn't. It hurt. Faranth, it HURT, and it was all I could do to not start rolling 'round crying them out (hey, a'least they'd be open). There were soft clucking noises past all the hurt pangs, and M'low pried my arms loose and dribbled coolness onto my eyes. "There. Now _you_ stop it."

I opened 'em, and whoo-whee, let me tell you the view wasn't pretty at all. M'low's face was squished up all tight 'gainst mine—to keep me from making more music with them bones, prob'ly—and his eyes were red and puffy like he'd been crying something fierce. His lips were cracked, and I could count the little veins that were standing up in his whites. And me, being some kind of random, said, "Rats."

He jumped. Not one of those sissy little things _you_ call 'jump,' but one that might as well have touched the ceiling the way he was looking. His eyes got all big and he shook his head. "It's me, Rose. M'low. Not Rats."

"Mellow. Not Rats." I parroted stupidly. Momma 'linda used to do it all the time for me when I called her 'mam' and wouldn't let me go 'till I got it right.

"Good." Life went back to him, his shoulders turning back into blocks and his back stiff as a board. I watched him pace, back and forth, around. He smelled like food, and Faranth, I hurt as much as I was hungry. "Mellow?"

He did that jump again, but halfway caught himself. "M'low. It's M'low."

"M'low. What I meant to say was…well," Lie, Rosey, lie. "Youlookgreat!" It was all crammed together tighter than wherry stuffing, but I didn't care. Anything to get that food smell off of him and into me.

"You awful liar." He smiled, and for a second, it was like I was Vivianth and getting all of his love. Then it was gone, and this storm cloud of a scowl took its place. A poor substitute, if you ask me. "_You_ are the biggest dimglow I have _EVER_ had the "privilege" of meeting. Do you realize that you could've _died?_ And why even get into such a shard-blasted, STUPID—"

'Round this time I stopped listening. He dropped his pretty vowels a long time ago, and his words were like little butter knives going pokety-poke all over the places that hurt most. 'Sides, it was hard to listen to that when there was a whole mountain of food piled up end on top of end right behind him. He noticed too—I was drooling in great sappy mounds—and gave me a glare S'lem would've been proud of. Then all of a sudden it was like he picked up his anger, mashed it up good and creamy, and tossed it halfway to the sun. "Faranth…sorry. I forgot," he said, all at once turning around and loading up a plate to feed about fifty people. He shoved it into my face like he forgot how to be nice, and stood there staring at me while wringing his hands. Before I'd even got a holt of anything on it, he blurted, "Is it good?" and clamped his lips shut again, shifting from one foot to the other. I wondered why he was so nervous, but then he pushed the plate pointedly at me again. "Eat…please?"

I didn't need to be told twice. 'Tuck in' would be another understatement for what I was doing. 'Shoveling' was more like it. I crammed just about everything that could fit in my mouth at once, barely chewing before swallowing and stuffing more down. I tore the plate down in no time, barely noticing M'low until I was laving at the crumbs. He was bustling the background, arms up to the elbow in flour which I still eyed hungrily. I'd hardly tasted anything, but the aftertaste was enough to have me flopping after eating nothing for Faranth-knew how long. My eyelids were getting droopy with food and drowsiness from it and even M'low scootching over and plunking a great big bubbly pie on the plate didn't quite wake me up. I stared at it. "What's this for?"

He looked away, blushing. "A promise."

"Lucky me, then." I said, grinning.

He met my eyes, and his were smiling. "Indeed. Now," he switched back to his I'm-so-much-older-and-wiser-than-you tone, "eat it while it's hot."

"Don't mind if I do." I murmured, and bit down. He'd made it hot enough so that I couldn't hulk the entire thing down at once, almost burning. But it made me taste it, and I had to close my eyes. It was thick with sweet and cream, the fruit still bubbly and whole. They exploded when I chewed, burning my mouth with their savor. The pastry unfurled in layers, chewy and flaky and so very good. It seemed a great while before I was done, and when the plate was empty again, I licked my fingers one by one, gazing at M'low with this great, sleepy smile on my face.

"_You_ are a spectacle." He mused, regarding me dreamily. I wanted to say he was, perched all perfect-like staring at me, but as I opened my mouth it was like some magic button was pressed and down I went, snoring up a storm.

* * *

"_You_ are the biggest dimglow I've ever had the "privilege" of teaching. Taking a fevered, injured ANYTHING _between_ will only make it worse. Or has that fact NEVER permeated that thick skull of yours?" 

"I suppose not."

"Then perhaps I should drill little holes in it to allow for greater surface exposure, hmm? Or is that remedy not approved by your greatness?"

Being a beat dog gives you a heckuvalot of crazy dreams, and I was riding through another one of 'em, I guessed. There was S'lem at one end, looking so pissed that his brains must've been slow-roasting and M'low on the other, gnawing at his lip like a spoiled kid that got caught red-handed smuggling sweet root while I was face down with my nose mashed up against something soft and green and moving up and down. For a dream, that sure did hurt, and I turned my head just a little bit to get a better view. I'd never seen S'lem fight with anyone, maybe since no one was stupid enough to get him so winded up, but it looked like he was losing. His face was red and his teeth and fists were clenchy enough to see the veins sticking up all worm-like and gross while M'low just stood there and gave his glare right back at him, his eyes steely.

"Oh, but since my_ master_ recommends it, I shall graciously accept his judgment without a peep." This M'low said, sounding like S'lem mixed with knives.

"You—you…I…" He pointed at me, and I wished I was invisible. His look could dice bones. "What did you feed him to get him this way?"

M'low smiled this awful smile. "Hemlock, nightshade—the works. Don't look at me that way, I'm _joking_ for Faranth's sake. I didn't get him this way, _your_ former students did."

"Do I need to remind you that you were one of them?" His eyes might as well've been saying 'murder.'

"Excuse me,_ master_," He swept this bow that had him tripping, obviously making fun of S'lem's own wacky bow, "for not working out all the sticky details. But all joking aside," His voice was his own again, "I didn't do this. G'len and his lot did. _You_ were the watchrider at the time. _You_ should've seen this going on."

"Pardon me,_ student,_ but I was too busy wondering why Vivianth happened to be lollygagging in Benden without authorization."

"So now I need permission to visit old friends? Very old friends, by the look of you." A nasty grin. S'lem raised a hand to strike, and my breath just had to hitch. He looked at me. "Rosen."

"Yessir?" I was too tired to space out my words. I coughed, not wanting G'len on my back. "Yes, sir?"

He sounded real tired. "Rosen, who did this?"

"'S what M'low said." His hand went back up and right down and he sighed. When he spoke again it was like he was Turns older. "Fine, M'low. How did you proceed after the…incident?"

"Took him to Fort." He murmured, obviously not wanting anyone to hear.

"And _how_ did you 'take him to Fort'?" His tone was sprouting acid.

"_Between_."

"Oh, _wonderful_. Go on."

"I fed him."

"What? Hemlock, nightshade—the works?" I wondered if S'lem could get any nastier.

"No." M'low had stopped meeting S'lem's eyes and was busy contemplating his shuffling feet, voice surly. "I fed him food."

"Oh, really. You could slap some glaring lie in place of what you're spewing and it still be better. 'I fed him food.' Psh."

"_I_ made it, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?" M'low's teeth were bared as if he were snarling.

"You egoistic showoff! Parading braggart! He doesn't need YOUR clabber! What he needs is nourishing, austere fare that will actually help him recover from this…mess. Not—"

"How do _you_ know what he needs?" M'low shot right back. "You let G'len get a hold of him and let him do this to him! You don't know_anything!"_

"I don't know_ anything? _At least I know that it was your fault to begin with. If _you_ hadn't decided to go and warm every last half-man's bed in Benden, _none_ of this would've happened. Or, even better, if you just let Rosen be, no one would know what you harbor for him."

"And of course you know the answer to _that_ too." He cheeks had gone ruddy, and sweat smeared his brow.

"I do. And be glad I have the decency not to blurt it out." He sighed. "M'low, look at me." He sounded so piteous that even I started staring. "How could you do this? This boy deserves as much of a chance at life as you did, away from machinations your own and not your own."

"Then that so-called 'chance' would be the equivalent of zero, right? 'Cause Faranth knows I was given a _fat _chance." M'low still stared at the floor, drawing cuss words in the dirt with his feet.

"M'low…" S'lem stepped forward, grabbing M'low's shoulder. He shook it off like a dead fly, turning away from both me and him. "I thought_ you_ of all people could understand why I do what I do. You know what _they'll _do. They'll take _her_ away. I thought you knew that, I really did."

"They can't do that. They haven't taken Cosseth away because they really _can't_. Just talk to F'lar. He'll—"

"I'll never lower myself to talk to that man." He'd shifted so that I could see one hard, glassy eye. "_Never_."

"They have brainwashed you so…" S'lem sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, and it was one of finality. "Alright then. But…if you want to visit Benden when it's on my watch," He was scooting around now, looking nervous, "please visit me. I _do_ miss my best student, you know."

M'low whipped around, jaw hitting the ground. He clamped that thing shut real fast, rubbing at it with a hand so I couldn't see half his face to read it. When he moved it away, he was half-smiling. "Your _best_, eh? Not your favorite?"

"Oh, good Faranth, no. But the teacher would like to thank his best for rescuing his favorite." Even S'lem was grinning now.

"The teacher's best cordially asks the teacher to take care of the teacher's favorite, seeing as they share such an impeccable taste in their selection."

"Work on your rhetoric." S'lem growled, elbowing a sniggering M'low out of the way to get to me. "You can walk, right?"

"I think so." I said, my mouth twitching from trying not to laugh. "I mean, you can do anything in a dream righ'?"

"Stop speaking nonsense. Vivianth, if you please…thank you." Wow. I'd been lying all this time on Vivianth all this time and didn't even know it. She tilted slightly, rolling me into S'lem's waiting arms. Everyone seemed to stare as I wobbled and jiggled, the ground obviously not liking me stepping on it, but I didn't fall. It was a good thing, too, with all those eyes on me. Even Vivianth had turned to watch the show with her giant blue whirly-gigs for eyes. I patted her back, still warm from my sick self. "Thanks," I whispered.

_Anything_.

I stared at her, even with S'lem nudging me down like I was some hulking babe, and I swear I saw her eyes speed up a tad. As quickly as she was in my mind, filling it up with this great, endless…_happy_, she was gone, her eyes back on M'low. They were gone, too. S'lem pushed me down the mountain.

* * *

"You didn' tell me he's your student." 

It was my turn to whine, and I'd like to think that I had every right to. I'd spent the last hour or so getting every bit of me that hurt poked and prodded and covered with this stinky gunk that S'lem swore, "would make them feel better." I couldn't tell if that was a lie or not at the time, but by now it was obvious that S'lem had told a whopper. It'd made all the cuts and stuff sting like bloody murder and the purple spots scream loud enough to break glass. _If _they'd mouths, and I could tell S'lem was wishing that I didn't have one at the mo'.

"_You_ never asked. And he _was_ my student. Past tense. Get that right." He finished slapping on the last bit of goo, winding around a bandage as quick as you please. He squeezed it a bit tighter than usual and that's how I knew he was pissed at me. Pissed enough to care, I guessed.

"Why it matter?" I blurted it without thinking to keep from screaming.

"Why _does_ it matter. Don't tell me that a sevenday with G'len made you forgot everything I taught you. And speaking of G'len…" He pulled out a chair, shoving me down on it. I looked away, seeing that wrinkled sheet of something that he'd given me. I wondered what was on it before S'lem shoved his face right up against mine. "I won't throw a tantrum over the stupidity of your actions, seeing as M'low already saw to that, but I must say, anything, and I mean_ anything_ would've been better for you to do than to pick a fight with Pellomar in your condition. What were you thinking?"

"I guess I wasn't thinking, y'know, since I was starving 'n all." I tried not to sound bitter, but I was. It was like M'low said, why didn't S'lem know about it and _do_ something about it.

"Don't you shove the blame on me, boy." He hissed, the voice like a cheese grater, grating, what else? "Despite my warning, you decided to push on with your usual, violent ways. It was your actions that caused this upheaval, and it is not my duty to pluck you out of these situations. You are sixteen Turns, verging on seventeen. As much as I enjoyed you being a boy, and Faranth knows I keep forgetting your age, you are a_ boy_ no longer. You can no longer rely on people to have everything laid out for you. You've got to start setting your own table, getting your own fork and knife. And not let anyone else interfere with it. _You,_ yourself, are solely responsible."

I wanted to say fighting was completely different from forks and knives, but as if right on cue, two people burst in, one face looking like they were ready to rip something apart (I sure hoped that something wasn't me) and the other white as worry. S'lem straightened instantly. "My respects to you, Weyrleader."

"Where is—oh. Well, that solves half my problems." F'lar gave me a hasty half-a-smile, and I could barely force one up in time before he looked back to S'lem, his face back to being flaming pissed. "What is this I'm hearing about the candidate master's less than smiled on…methods?"

"I don't have the slightest idea about what you're talking about." S'lem's lip was curled meanly.

F'lar pushed the other face in front, and it took me a second to recognize it. "BIRTO? What happened t'you?"

Birto didn't look at me, just muttered something about 'gross favoritism' and 'starvation' before jabbing a guilty finger at me.

"Good. You are dismissed." Birto shot me a look of pure fear before scurrying out, shutting the door with a big bang. "Now, elaborate."

"Again, I assure you, Weyrleader, that I knew nothing of this."

"Then explain your nursing of Rosenfield here. Did you ask him how he got this way or did you just shape some answer from the air?"

S'lem drew himself up to his full height, almost F'lar's. "If a patient was gravely hurt, possibly near death, would your priority be to pump him for the excruciating details of how he was saddled with his injury? Or would you 'shape some answer from the air' and treat him of his ills?"

F'lar twitched, and I thought he would explode or something just as bad, but then he breathed out, shoulders going limp. "I apologize for my accusations. It's just quite hard to believe that something…like _this _could escalate to such a scale without my knowing."

"No need to apologize." S'lem waved a dismissive hand, but his eyes clearly said that he was miffed. "Now, what was this about the candidate master?"

"I'm sure you remember as a candidate being punished for certain wrongdoings. Slacking, not paying attention, lack of respect, being at a supposed 'off-limits' site," At this, F'lar's mouth twitched as if was dying to smile, but grew into a hard, thin line just as fast.

"Of course. Even if my candidacy occurred four hundred Turns ago, yes." Both F'lar and him exchanged this fond look of knowing. It flew away fast, though. "Unfortunately," F'lar continued, "our present candidate master sets no limits on what is considered punishable. Rosenfield suffered the consequences of that deficiency."

"Certainly not all of this was G'len's fault." F'lar's eyebrow shot up about a dragonlength. "A man of his age couldn't have beaten Rosen to this extent."

"It doesn't matter how it was done." His tone was cold. "What matters is that G'len is grossly abusing his power. He must be relieved of his responsibilities."

"If you have already made up your mind on this matter, why bring it to my attention at all?"

F'lar looked like he wanted to hit himself, probably angry that he had danced around the issue in big winedy circles 'stead of just saying the sharding thing. Or at least that's what I thought. He took a big breath like he didn't want to say what he was about to say. "G'len is of Oldtime…"

"If a rider's dragon cannot determine his rider's actions then why should a man's origins have the privilege of doing so?" S'lem snapped, cutting F'lar off.

"Spoken like a true Harper." F'lar rewarded S'lem with one of those meltyblend smiles. "But in this case, his origins do have a lot to do with his actions. I realized that he is one of the men T'ron left with me seven Turns ago when Benden's wings were under strength; a very convenient manipulator. It is to my understanding that Oldtimers were not fond of their Holders. Rosenfield is Holdbred. Could T'ron have ordered G'len to punish Holders to discourage them from Impression?"

S'lem's eyes went sleepy, thinking. "It is possible," He blurted, face red as if he didn't want to believe it himself. "I kept detailed records of the candidates. Rosen is not the only who is Holdbred."

"Birto tells me that others have suffered under G'len, just to a less extreme." He gave me a once-over, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, not wanting him to see me as a half-nekkid mummy. "They were all Holdbred."

"Then we can assume that T'ron doesn't want Holders a-dragonback. End of discussion." S'lem spat, obviously annoyed that he hadn't found the answer first, "with all due respect, Weyrleader." He tossed after it, his tone wrenching the words of their courtesy.

F'lar's eyebrow did the tweaky again, but he let it drop. "I will be relieving G'len of his duties. But," A grave smile stretched on to his face, "I will need someone to replace him."

All of S'lem froze except for the head, which creaked towards F'lar something awful. "You cannot be serious."

"I am quite serious." F'lar looked like a self-satisfied prig of a feline that just found itself a chest full of milk.

"You are well aware of my age and how my aching joints will have to work to keep up with those young backs. I do have other duties, you know!"

"I am well aware." His tone was placid, and his grin doubled.

"Fine. FINE. If I'm to break my back, then I might as well be doing it for the_ children_, whom I loathe. Thank you _so_ very much for this demotion. Oh, forgive me, _promotion._"

"You are very welcome." F'lar gave a gracious little nod of his head, turning around to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when he turned around. "You do remember that little project we discussed a while ago?"

"Ah, yes. With a great fondness that I don't happen to have for my new title."

Faranth, F'lar's smirk was insufferable. "I'll leave it up to you to carry it out."

"With great pleasure, m'lord." S'lem threw F'lar's nod at him as he shut the door. After a moment or two, we heard laughing. S'lem limped over to me, pulling out a chair and slumping into it. "What I do for M'low. What I do for that lousy little _ungrateful_ scamp."

"You lied to_ F'lar_?" My eyes were probably the size of dinner plates.

He gave a weakly dismissive wave. "No, no, no. I didn't _lie_ to him. I just didn't tell him the truth, that's all. I know this is going to come back and bite me later. I just _know it_."

I'd never seen S'lem so tired or broken, and I just sat there starin' like he was a two-headed mule. "'S already biting you. You're candidate master now."

"Oh, the joy. The all-encompassing _joy_." He shook his head in disgust before picking me up by the scruff of my neck and dumping me on his cot. "Go to sleep, Rosen. You're going to need it."

I wondered what kinda hell F'lar'd loosed on the world.

* * *

S'lem's cot was probably the most comfy thing I'd ever had the chance to be on since it seemed like moments of sleep before my eyes were open again. For the first time in a while, it felt like, not everything hurt when I finally got the guts to get up and try everything out. Everything seemed too long, and I fell over once and nearly twice before I got to that looking glass S'lem kept to count his wrinkles every sunrise. I almost fell over again. FARANTH, I looked like this big weedy thing 'side from not being green—everything was long and skinny and covered with black spots that could've passed for seeds, I guess. And my face…Let me tell you one thing, and it's that I'd always thought I was worth someone's spit on the underside of a_klah_ cup, but now… whoo-whee. I ain't even costing that much no more, no more. It looked like I'd really been chewed on 'cause all the meat was gone, just hallowed cheeks left and a bunch of scratches and bruises that could've passed as bite marks. I stared and stared, pressing myself hard up against the glass to get a good, long look. Might 's well get used to it, Rosey. 

"Well, look on the bright side," S'lem had crept up all quiet as you please, standing behind me in the mirror with this crook in his mouth, "you're nearly F'lar's height, I'll wager."

I turned around, and might as well have hit the ceiling m'self. I had to look _down _to see old S'lem, smiling up at me. He reached up to pat my shoulder. "Now, breakfast. First one in a sevenday, right?"

S'lem was either going really, really soft or I was looking more invalid than I thought. I nodded, managing not to do anything stupid, in my opinion, while sitting myself down and taking a hulking spoonful of porridge. It smelled like heaven, and probably tasted like it too, but S'lem had a hold of my hand before I even got the teeniest lick. "What'd I do?"

My face felt hot, and S'lem must've saw it 'cause he turned bright pink himself. "Eat slowly. You can't just hork it down and expect your body to do anything with it. Anything _useful, _that is."

I snorted. He took it as an agreement and sat back down himself, taking about a finger's width of porridge and sipping it, like a lady. I tried to copy him, but still managed to finish before him, no less full than I was before. He made me sit there until he finished, and afterwards, dip my fingers in some funky-smelling water and wipe my mouth. Twice. Before he got to sit back down and demonstrate how 'one cleans his hands properly,' there was a thunderclap of a knock at the door, making him spill his water. He glared at me like it was all my fault. "Come in."

The door creaked open about a hair. "Master S'lem, the candidates are waiting for your instruction."

S'lem could've pulled off someone's balls with the look on his face. His voice came out though, as nice as could be. "Of course. Please tell them to gather at the Sands. I'll be with them in a moment."

"Yes, sir." The door slammed shut.

His look veered over to me. I cowered. "C'mon, boy. I've no idea how to even proceed with this…Touching _thing_. But I'll think of something." He all but hauled me to my feet and stormed out. I followed with a longing gaze at the almost full porridge pot, sighing and following. Like Rats, I was hungry _now._

If candidacy under G'len had been about the same as getting burned to a crisp, eaten, spat back out and laid out to watch Thread make pretty little holes on your chewed up self, S'lem sure went and did a good job of proving that his was that with no fellis to make you dumb and sleepy-happy, stomping out onto the Sands and yelling at everyone to shut up or he'd feed them to Ramoth himself, limb by limb. Lessa looked happy at that suggestion, saying that Ramoth would be more than happy to oblige. And obliging she looked; if S'lem's pissed was just 'pissed,' Ramoth's pissed was like having a broom with all the bristles shoved good and tight up there. She was Sharding HUGE, which didn't make anything better, 'cause all you could see were her eyes and how hate-mad red they were. She hissed at us, and everyone shut up. In that big mess I managed to find Birto, and his face was just as white as it'd been last night. "You know what's going on?" I whispered. Lucky we were in the back.

"Yeah. We're touching the eggs again." He swallowed, smiling shakily at me. I was eye level with him now and smiled back. "I saved one for you."

"Wait, _again?_ You've done this already?"

"Mmhm. It's just Ramoth's angrier this time about it than before."

"That's why you're looking as white as a sheet? Pipe down. At least we'll be eaten last."

I could still make him laugh. It was a short one, though, and he went back to a cross between worried and thoughtful. "You'll like your egg," he rattled off, "It's kinda greenish and all the way in the back. I heard from Pellomar that you wanted a green." He rolled his eyes. Obviously Pell'd been making more cracks about my 'selection.'

"I've 'impeccable taste,' don't I?" I grinned big, thinking about M'low.

"What?"

"Nothing." We both turned back to S'lem's rambling. Ramoth had backed off to just throwing her hissy fit at the girls around the gold egg. Everyone was spreading out now, gathering around their favorite eggs. Birto hung on to me, pulling me towards the egg he'd saved for me. I saw it, and knew why right away. It was one of the smallest and green, just like he'd said, but I could care less. It was just as big as I was and twice as wide, and cloudy with its color. I walked forward, pressing both hands onto it. "They're warm!" I said, laughing.

"Yeah." Birto's eyes had gone as cloudy as my egg's, his own hands pressed to one of the larger, dark brown ones. "Wouldn't it be so great if we Impressed? Just think about it…" His voice was barely a whisper, almost impossible to hear with all the rest of the candidates talking.

"Oh, I've been thinking, don't worry." I turned back to the egg. It _would_ be great. More than that, even. I could get away from S'lem and F'lar all up in my business and go, well, anywhere. And there was M'low—he'd be able to teach me everything he knew about riding and fighting Thread and…I rolled my own eyes now. Keep on dreaming,_boy._ I gave the egg one last pat before moving away with the rest.

There were still the chores. It was the same things; mucking out stalls, sweeping, hacking up Sukey, washing dragons. You know, all that good, bone-tiring stuff, except this round seemed way easier. For one thing, I wasn't starving no more (even if I was eating as slow as a seriously obese lady on some nibbling diet), another was Pell getting off my back. It was a good thing 'cause that baby cot I still slept on wasn't doing that back no good, and I wasn't sure if it could handle Pell's bulk on it. And the last one was that I got to spend at least half my day with Birto and S'lem learning how to talk pretty for the Crafters and Holders. For what reason I don't know and don't care since it sure beat shoveling…well, you know, and I probably would've been happy _not_ knowing for the rest of my life. But, since something made me happy Faranth thought she might as well go smash it for all she cared.

It was one of those rainy days that kept us from scraping the greens off the sides of the Weyr, meaning that me and Birto got to spend the whole day with S'lem 'stead of just half. We were both gathered around the fire, our behinds soaked from being out, when he stomped in, more wrinkles standing out than usual. He sank into a chair, waving us towards him. We sat down in a min-circle around him, looking at each other nervously. After a while of twiddling thumbs, I turned to Birto, "What's eating him?"

"Nothing is 'eating' me, Rosen. I simply realized how old I was getting." He opened his eyes, the firelight making him look even worse than usual. The brown of his eyes was cloudy with cataracts, the extra wrinkles becoming threadscore. I stood up, fast enough to make Birto jump back. "You put numbweed on that yet?"

His eyes shut again. He sighed, groping blindly for the jar he always kept. I reached forward, pushing it towards his hand. It still took him a little before he got his hand around it, and even then, just held it, staring at it. "It's 'have you put,' Rose. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"'Bout a thousand more if you're gonna live that long." I pulled the jar away from him, unscrewed the cap and slathered it thick on the cuts. "They ain't deep."

He touched his cheek to one, winced, and pulled away. "Age is such a funny thing. Such a funny, sneaky _git_. You, and you," He jabbed angry fingers at me and Birto, "Listen. You wake up, expecting everything to be tight and sound when really, the wall's busy crumbling behind your back. And when you need it the most," He got up, the bones of his back clicking. "it's not there. And it's never going to be again." He went back to staring at whatever was more interesting than me and Birto's mouths tasting the floor. Birto found his guts first. "But, sir. There was no Thread today."

"Not at Benden's tiny part of the world, you mean. Why haven't you been studying those charts?"

"He _has _been studying." I slid between him and Birto. "Those charts are about as much help as my a—um, they don't work anymore, remember? Shifts an'…"

"The charts I gave you are updated." He snapped, then shook his head, muttering bitterly, "Oh, never mind, never mind. It wasn't threadscore, not all of it, anyway."

"Then what was it?"

His hand went up and both of us backed up about a dragonlength, hitting the wall. It was down just as fast, S'lem's anger replaced by tiredness as he sat back down. "Merika threw quite the fit when sent her from High Reaches. Conveniently, I was there for her to vent frustration." He glared coldly at us. "Blue riders. Convenience. _I hate it_." A bellow from outside echoed his rider's.

"Wait—" Birto stepped up again. "You sent _Merika_ away from High Reaches?"

"Yes. T'kul too. And T'ron." He swallowed as if saying the names left a bad taste in his mouth. "But not just me, by all means. I was just there to see it get done. And look at me now."

We both finally found the decency to shut up, and after a while of sitting and letting it get tenser and tenser, S'lem shooed us away. "I won't be able to teach you anything today," was his excuse.

"You could teach us some new oaths."

"Get out."

But he was smiling.

* * *

I was scrubbing Cosseth out without S'lem hovering over my shoulder like he would chuck something at me if I misplaced a single chunk of flaking hide, and even Cosseth seemed calmer for the lack of him. It was a nice day after that storm, both literal and figurative, with S'lem, the sun high and the water nippy at the ankles. I gave his back a final swipe, shoving at him to make him go and rinse. He wouldn't budge for some reason, his head up high in the air and staring behind me like there were 'bout half a dozen ghosts or something. My face must've looked it, 'cause when I whirled around and shoved my brush at the ghosts, it got a bark of laughter from M'low and even a rumble from Vivianth. 

"Nice one. I can see why _you're_ the favorite. Now," He grabbed my arm, yanking hard, "come with me. And be quick about it."

"What the—" I made a feeble gesture at Cosseth.

"Don't worry, Vivianth will look after him. Just hurry." I didn't ask no more questions, his eyes were that bad. His hand was shaky nervous on my arm, and I could've flung it aside without even trying. Or, better yet, just stand there and watch him try to pull me since I was tons taller than him. But, since I'm me and being me means doing whatever else anyone tells me to do, I let myself be pulled.

It was a while before we stopped, or I stopped and forced him to stop 'cause he couldn't drag me no more. We were going into the caverns that no one had been in since Faranth knew how long, and I didn't like the dark no more than I liked Pellomar. I stalled. "What did you do when T'ron got sent to Southern?"

"That?" His eyes got big like he didn't expect me to know nothing, "It's nothing. I stayed, no big deal." He kept on walking, faster, faster, as fast as he'd dropped his vowels. I didn't want to follow, but I was afraid of not following. He was worried about something and wasn't saying what or why, and it was giving me the creeps more than the cavern was. All the while he was cussing to himself and feeling at the wall with me right at his heels, and after what seemed like forever he stopped, slipping as clean as you please into an okay-sized crack on the side. "C'mon."

I went too, twitching at the rock grazing my skin beneath my thin shirt, almost bumping into him. There were sparks, and suddenly light flooded the place, flickering in the mist. "Now," He grabbed my hand, pulling me closer to him. "you've been touching the eggs, right?"

"Yeah. Wait a second…"

"There's no time for waiting." The blackest scowl was on his face.

"These are_ Ramoth's_ eggs. How did you—where's Ramoth?"

"Gone. That's all that matters. I'll need you to touch from now on…" He gave the entire chamber a onceover, "this one, that one, and…maybe that one in the corner. Doesn't have any others around it. See?"

"Why?"

"Why does it matter? Touch them. _Now._ For me, _please._" He didn't need his voice to do the begging, his eyes were enough. I rolled mine at him, barely brushing the one closest to me. It was Pellomar's egg; I could still tell in the dim light. It wasn't the biggest, but it was bronze-colored and creamy. A lot prettier than my dirty-looking green one, I guessed. I was reaching for the next one before the light shifting caught my eye. He had shoved the candle into the sand, sketching a rough model of what looked like the cavern we were in. When he saw me looking, he dashed it away and blew out the taper. "What was that for?" I said.

"Nothing. You touch those eggs yet?" Before he got an answer, he doubled over, his head thumping against my thigh as he fell. In the dimness I could just make out his face, the deep, graven lines that spoke of impossible grief. He groaned, leaning heavily on me. "Take us out, please." I did, whisking us out of the chamber and back out into the light. Faster going out than in, it seemed, and we were just in time for this deafening, out-of-the world-keen. I stopped up my ears in time to see M'low crumple, shaking and Vivianth and Cosseth on the ledges, screaming their lungs out.

I put myself together long enough to see M'low leave and talk to S'lem about what had happened. He looked half crazy himself, and probably was with his and the rest of all them dragons stirring up something foul outside. It turned out that two High Reaches queens had killed each other, both Benden-hatched, which was why it had been such a big deal. I had simply sat there and let him unload all of his dirt on me without asking questions even if I had no idea what he was talking about. He'd probably assumed I'd find out when I got myself a pretty-shiny at the Hatching that was about a sevenday away. To tell you the truth, I wasn't looking forward to it no more. It seemed like so much trouble; the washing, the feeding, the great, crushing sadness that was there when I swallowed enough fear to sweep out Canth's couch. Brekke had been in there, or at least her body had. Her soul seemed to be in pieces, swept out the window with the rest of the dust, that hard to find and even harder to put back together.

It didn't get better.

S'lem was in pieces still a few days after the "incident," fidgety and distracted as he tried to teach us the "art of diplomacy." In truth, I probably could've done a better job of explaining 'diplomacy' or whatever that was to a half-wit than S'lem could've explained a spoon to a human being. Today wasn't going no better, and me and Birto had just sat and watched him lecture himself wheezy when he suddenly fixed us both with an eye that showed that, no, he wasn't going insane. Not just yet.

"Birto."

I think Birto could've been pregnant or something from the look on his face. "Yes…sir?"

"I am going to give you a problem, and you are going to tell me how you would solve it. Say there was a certain knife, jeweled, new, yes, Rosen, better looking than mine, and a Crafter had spent the last sevenday of his life slaving over this knife to give to a certain Lord Holder for his wedding.

"After the knife was done, let's say a dragonrider saw it, and lo and behold, the green-eyed monster had stolen his soul. He had to have that knife, no matter what the Crafter said. Now," He straightened, his eyes boring into Birto, "what would you do?"

"Well," Birto sat up good and straight, moistening his lips, "since it is the dragonrider's duty to protect Pern, he spends the majority of his vitality doing so, thusly cutting his lifespan by at least a third if not more due to Thread-related injuries." He gave me a nervous look. I nodded even if I disagreed with almost everything that was tumbling out of his mouth, nudging him on, "Because the dragonrider performs his duty to the best of his ability with that duty being on such a grand scale, the dragonrider should be entitled to that knife."

S'lem gave a grave nod. "What about you, Rosen?"

I shrugged. "The knife's for the Lord Holder, the Crafter spent Faranth-knows how long on it, so the dragonrider can go piss off." I didn't look at Birto since I already'd memorized his look of dismay. S'lem gave me that annoyingly sad nod again before sitting down, groaning as his back eased. He then gave us both a small smile. "And again, we are faced with yet another problem: your answers. Which one would cause the least friction in this horrible, horrible time? Which one. Always which one."

We sat there, feeling cruddy for upsetting S'lem yet again, staring into the fire.

So that was how I felt going into the Hatching, miserable. It was hardly morning and people were already up and screaming and yelling and pulling out hair with the business. The sauce was in the wrong place and the robes are all wrinkly and Faranth knows what else was getting messed up all at the wrong time. I had my white on and was tucked nice and neat away from everyone else to 'keep from getting underfoot' as the cooks had said. Everyone else looked like they were doing a good job of that themselves, gathered all cozy with their families, talking and smiling and laughing like they hadn't seen each other in forever. Pell was surrounded by a mob of them, taking his time to shoot me a smug smirk. I looked away, trying to doze off when a familiar-looking redhead came and popped me a good one in the gut. "You're getting fat," she said.

"If getting fat means getting taller than yes, I am." I smiled at Favrielle, my equivalent of family, apparently. She was getting bigger, her big blue eyes squinting as she wrinkled her nose. "Fine. You're taller. And don't talk like S'lem. It gives me the creeps." She rubbed her arms like crawlers were all over them, kicking at my leg. "What are you doing?"

"I 'unno. Twiddling my thumbs?"

"Sounds boring. You're going to Impress today, aren't you?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Well think so. Papa says you're going to Impress a green, but I think different." She tilted her little chin up all proud. I could've laughed.

"Papa, eh? You've been playing too much Family, Favri." I prodded her nose.

"No! It's not Family." She glared at me with steel in her eyes. "It's _family_. I found my Papa. He was red-headed, just like what Momma said."

"Alright, alright. What were you thinking I would Impress, then?"

She smiled, flashing dimples. "I think you're going to Impress a bronze. A great big bronze, just like F'lar."

"Just like F'lar. I'll remember, Favri." I patted her head. She ducked it, making me miss, sprouting great giggles. "Remember me, Rose. Oh," Her eyes got huge as she covered her mouth with her hands. "I can't believe it! It's going to be the last time I call you that. Rose." She mashed her face up close against mine. "Rose, Rose, Rose. I won't forget you."

"You won't be able to. I'll be riding the biggest doggone bronze, remember?"

"Of course." She smiled again before racing off, her skirts bouncy. I stared, hardly believing that I used to be that young. Like S'lem had said, age was a git. I would give anything to be like that still, not caring about a single, flipping thing.

I was still dreaming about it when we walked out onto the Sands, and Faranth, it was hot as boilin' water out here, made even worse with the press of hot, sweaty bodies all around me. And there was queen Blood smack dag in the middle of all of it howling up winged and clawed slaughter. The humming grew louder, not that it needed to since the eggs were already doing the deafening for them. It was like thunderclaps striking trees, left and right, the shells flung everywhere and at anyone. Just as quickly, baby dragons rushed out, clawing at people and liking others. I hoped Pell was getting diced fine, his smug self up in the front an' all, but just as I thought it, a great blob of brown hunkered towards me, its eyes not the blue of happy but the red of something really, really pissed off.

* * *

Again, until next time (whenever that may be). Love, Maude. 


	3. I Need You

Just what is M'low thinking? A brief vignette that explores his pre-hatching mentality as well as demonstrating my amazing powers of resurrection. Thanks to WinterIrony, Mecotl, and Jenna, & astrokath for your comments. They are inspiring, and I am sincerely grateful for your attentions.

* * *

I, Too  
Intermission No. 1: I Need You.

* * *

_You are in love._

It was one of those passé, pastoral scenes that he had always tried his darndest to avoid. You know, the ideal sun-and-green every which way and a big, brand-new spanking lake smack dab in the precise center of all the unnecessary vegetation. Nonetheless, he hadn't really had the time to consider the clichéd-ness of the setting, since it happened to be a get-in, get-out, zoom-to-the-Hatching-to-see-results-of-machinations sort of thing. Oddly, his guard was all the way down in spite of the tensions that usually came with conclusions to epic planning's, mayhap due to his supreme confidence in the turnout. He was the calm before a storm, silence and stillness and serenity beyond reason as he perched in an irritatingly picturesque way at the lake's edge, splashing idly at his wallowing green. It was with that mindset that her suggestion floated upon, light as a lilypad on a glass lake, that managed to cut him true. He visibly startled as if slapped, composing himself after a long minute to look at her quizzically. Even so, his "Really?" came out even, though colored slightly by disbelief.

In contrast, she pressed earnestness on him, staring through the murky water. _Yes. _He stiffened. She rolled over, twin gems vanishing into blue as she darted away._ You are in love with a rose._

His shoulders relaxed with his sigh, letting his head loll backwards in a visual release. He spoke to the sky. "Flowers are fickle things, love. Too fickle even for me."

_He is not fickle!_ Her flung objection continued with her physical flinging of herself from the water, intentionally soaking him with a wave. Laughter was her response as she nosed him, blinking blue eyes as he pushed at her._ He has big thorns all over him, and no matter how much you try to shake him off he will only cling to you all the tighter._

"Like you?" He smiled as she bared her teeth in devastating riposte, plunging back into the safe depths. "And how would _you_ know?"

_Only the _rose_ wouldn't know. _I _know because you say, "Rose, rose, rose," over and over very loudly. And everything is…pink-colored when you do._

"Pink?" The disbelief was real this time. "I'm scandalized." He cast a hand towards his chest, pantomiming a truly offended Lady.

_Pink,_ she confirmed,_ and fluffy. Like I am bouncing on those bales that the rose herds. _And to the side, a miffed, _And that I am not allowed to eat._

"Do you mind?" He pursed his lips, smiling smugly. "I would think that you were jealous, darling."

_Yes. I mind the not eating. Oh—No. I quite like this…rose. When you think of him, I can finally hear you. Even if everything is pink… I do not mind. If anything, I wish that you would think of him always. _

"Always. I'll remember that." He leaned his head on his hands, he regarded her with a fondness parents reserved for their beloved unruly children. Aware of his sudden scrutiny, she posed, arching her neck in what she hoped was a graceful 's' as she glided towards him, an immense swan. Her eyes met his and held. _That way, I can always hear you._

In that moment he withdrew completely, hiding the tendrils of his creeping pride at the fact that she indeed did not know. Yet. She recoiled, all three lids sliding in a drawn-out blink. "You cannot hear me…?" He beckoned.

_No. You close yourself off to me and I do not know why. You do not need to hide from me._

He dismissed her sorrow. "I assure you that there are things that you are better off not knowing."

_You know everything about me and I do not care._

"I…you…" Her hurt slid from beneath his ramparts, poisoning his thoughts with red. He attempted to clear his mind, tried again, "You…"

_You will say that I have nothing to hide. But that is not true. I simply hide nothing from you._

"I don't let you know these…things... because—because you will hate me."

_Hate?_ She flexed her jaws as if the thought of the word left a bad taste._ Hate? You are talking like a wherry without its head. I know no… hate, and I will certainly not learn it towards you._

"That is easy to say, now, when you don't know."

_Then let me know. I want to know. _

A long pause. "I don't want you to know."

She snorted, not satisfied in the merest sense. _At least you are honest._

The red was everywhere, pushing out every bit of rationale he had gathered to stick together throughout the Turns. He clambered to his feet, hands snatching forwards, gripping the sides of her head. "What do you _want _from me?" He shook her, and she allowed it. Gasping with the effort, he pulled her close, glaring into her eyes. "You've obviously been planning this for a long time."

She continued to stare.

"What? _Shards_, tell me!"

She shook free of him like water slipping from fingers. _You keep these thoughts like spiny armor when, really, the spikes are on the inside. They will kill you. _She wailed like a child bellowing loss of a cherished toy, butting him with her upturned snout. _I do not wish for you to go this way. _

_I do not know who you are anymore. You are a rider, yes, but you become like all the other riders when I cannot hear you because it is your thoughts that make you my rider. I love all of your thoughts because I love my rider. They are a part of you, and when part of you is missing it is like an arm or a leg missing. You need your arms and legs like I need to hear you._

Sweat beaded his brow with the effort of understanding her onslaught of words and cold fear. And as he tasted her pain and anger and fear, she forced her way past his walls, enveloping him in her love.

_Do you remember, now, what it means to be whole?_

He could remember the Hatching when he first felt that monstrous amount of love, the heat of Fort's Sands and T'kul's hand at the small of his back, the harsh whispers of, "Bronze, you hear me? Bronze," as the hand pricked him forward into the white mass. He could remember the solemn affair, the rustling of thousands upon thousands of wings and blinking jewel-bright eyes in the semi-darkness. He remembered tasting fear, the swell of sound when the hatchlings spraying from their shells joined the shrill humming of the already grown. He remembered the crests of anticipation and disappointment as each one stumbled gracelessly towards their boys, all that were, obviously, better than him. He remembered trying to convince himself that it didn't matter, that he could find his rose and repay him back without whoring himself to Fort and High Reaches. He remembered, then, the feeling of being loved, being safe, and being needed, all by a whiny voice that knew his name in spite of all he had done to bury it under Rats. He remembered her virulent plea, _I need you._

In that moment, their bond flowed unhampered, a brief sweetness made all the more sweeter as M'low reached forward again, pressing his brow to his Vivianth's. She crooned, blinking coquettishly. _You love me_. _You know you do._

"You spoil everything."

_I try_. She sighed, undulating back into the water to rest her head on his lap. He grunted with the weight, then allowed it. _You will tell me one day._ It was not a request.

"Yes." She closed her eyes.

He knew that she would forget all of this in three days. He knew that he could probably never tell her and get away with it, and he snatched that treachery back as he began to rebuild his walls. Just for today, he promised her wordlessly, and if—no 'if.' It was going to happen. It would happen, and then he would never have to be apart from her again. He knew she could feel him fading, but chose to leave it at that. All would be well, just like that moment when he first reached for that precise spot on her eyeridge and scratched, and nothing else in the world mattered.

That was what it should have been.


	4. Love It When You Call

If you would like to bring some toasting forks for some cheese (and me while you're at it, for taking so damn long), feel free to. Also, I restate my warning of coy references, as it is very relevant to this chapter. You can be expecting near weekly updates now, as I am using the remainder of this piece for NaNoWriMo. Enjoy.

* * *

I, Too  
Love it When You Call

* * *

I done ran out of cuss words before I'd shoved enough brains together (not enough to fill the palm of my hand, courtesy of S'lem) to get outta its way, stepping to the side like my feet were made for the stage. Of course, because drama's got her eye on me, its head swiveled as if attached that way, all the while pantomiming my thoughts by fixing its overlarge spec at me for good measure. The entire time it was snorting and whuffing like some bull of the herd, its front claw scraping the dirt once, twice before lunging. I cut it close by moving at the last moment, grinning as it passed me right by with its head bobbing up and down, snorting as it slowed to make another pass. I must've shot it too fine, 'cause a second later, my head was doing the bobble as I sank down, almost howling sweet mother of Faranth with the sand under me near steaming. There was a thin line with budding red beads being squished out on my leg, and that's when I knew it was some kinda love when you're out here on display being cooked, alive. With that, all of a sudden all that anger that I had been keeping tucked underneath the tired and the chores and S'lem's fifty-thousand meltdowns burst out without its make-up on, bringing my arm up and hand stiff enough to claw at that smarting cut as if bleeding would take care of everything. If they wanted to see blood, it was blood they was gonna get. I was perfectly poised, all model-esque 'n all, when a hovering shadow ruined all my acting. It was that stupid brown that had gotten me like that in the first place, and its mind was beckoning, pulling me towards it in a brotherly cuff. It whispered like a mother in my ear, telling me that it would kill them all, all the anythings that had even ever dared to look at me the wrong way. It asked me how I wanted it done, how fast, and how it could turn them into mock brooms by separating their muscles into individual fibers. Then, we could eat them, slowly, bonding in the savor of fresh meat. Its, well, _his_ voice was so seductive that I flung myself at him, both physically and mentally, nodding at every word. I would never need anyone else, he swore, flashing fangs like a promise. _That _flung me back into reality. I stopped nodding. "What about M'low?" I asked. "And S'lem? Favrielle? I love them, too." Those teeth bared into a snarl, damning me for a fool as its voice died away with my anger. But you need me, it insisted, only me.

"No," I said, and shoved it away.

I opened my eyes to see the brown dart away as if burned, eyes no longer red as it butted heads with strangely familiar face that was just as soon a stranger as it smiled, glowing with the aftermath of Impression. Well, lucky you, and I gave a snarky little bow for good measure, laughing at my luck for not being torn into a million bits as I stumble-tripped back down onto the sand. _Where you belong, _Pell's voice said. I tilted my head set to slow-roasting, catching sight of the epilogue. Birto was dragging his bronze off the Sands, no surprise there, and my, oh my. Pell was busy groping a green's snout, his mouth hanging open with an oath unsaid born of love and hate. That was enough to make anybody's day, or more importantly mine, and I could smile again when I mushed my hands down to get up, nearly ramming into these two huge whirling ruby-emeralds. Their thoughts brushed mine, and I found myself very, very aware of their owner's hunger and their pain of having their tail laid on by something too big and alive to eat. I groaned, swatting at them. Not again, for the love of Fara—But why didn't I love him? Was he not good enough? The gems backed up, tilting to look at me straight on. It wasn't threatening, like the brown, but just curious and as happy as a wherry with harem in tow. Yeah, it was weird all right, lying on his tail on the sands and _still _being cooked anyhow, but by something…else. His, _joy_, I guess, at meeting me. _Me_? I rolled my eyes. Their eyes checked me out for another second before rolling with mine, turning all my angst aside and engulfing me with the slightest taste of his happy. It was monstrously limitless, all-encompassing and lovely, and almost comparable in quantity to his love. _Almost_. He showed _me_ through his eyes, how wonderful, how brilliant—how… he had ran out of words. "How ridiculously human _you _are," I said with S'lem's snide-y tone. And as if on bloody cue, I was swarmed with enough confusion to have me reeling. _Human?_

"You better not ask me if they're delicious 'cause let me tell you, I'll give you a helluva stomachache all the way down _and_ out." I pushed at him, but he was unmoving.

_I am not human._ That made my eyes do the roll again. He sounded like a kid with half his share of brains butchering his letters as steamy red as they could go._ But… _you_ are._

I gaped at him.

_And that is why Sonyath loves you._

In that moment, all my bottled resentment and anger dimmed into his eyes, dwindling 'til all there was was a deep, soothing green that whirled in those swimmable eyes of his. And as if I needed more proof, he nudged at my hands. I_ love you_.

My hands groped forwards, slipping smoothly across his soft hide and barely around his neck. "Damn it," I found myself sobbing, found the hot tears that had refused to come out ever since I was dumped in this dungheap of a place, found that my hands reached for each other then squeezed and held, anchors against reality, "damn it all."

An eternity seemed to pass in that happy nothing before he shifted slightly to butt heads with me in protest. His great eyes swam with red as he wheedled, _May we damn things later? I am very hungry._

I just about choked on a laugh as everything else around us came back into color, that life-changing moment lasting, apparently, less than the time that it took for Pell to drag his green towards food, not that it wasn't doing a good job of that already. I let go of him to smear the dumb tear-trails off my face, sniffing. You'd think that I played the waterworks card every chance I got counting the times I'd spilled since F'lar-in-the-hall. And you'd be right. Sort of. Sonyath prodded my thoughts, fueling my hunger with his own. My belly gave off this huge rumble, and his with it. "You pup." I flicked his neck.

He twitched to the side to dodge it, bonking me right back with his considerable head. I took that as a hint, nudging him and my now dizzy head off the Sands and into the cluster of squawking dragon-babes with their human-shaped equivalents in tow. Everyone was making "small" talk, 'ccording to S'lem, or passing time by talking nice to people that they'd rather watch play in a Fall, according to me. I looked up to see Birto waving a hand to me, his face in full bloom. His bronze trailed him. I grinned, and it felt real for the first time in what seemed like a million sev'days. "Birto."

His chest swelled up all big and proud. "It's B'irto now," he rattled off, and at a prod from his dragon, "and this here's Cabenth. S'lem's recording all the names there in the back."

"Know what Pell's 's named?"

"Ladrarth," We exchanged equally ironic looks before his expression brightened, "but I'm more interested in yours." And as if replying for me, he shoved me towards S'lem and his busy hide work.

"B'sim and brown Jocelyth. Move on." He all but shoved the new pair out of the hall, squinting at Bir—B'irto and me for a mo' before turning back to his scratching. "B'irto, to the feeding. You're blocking the way." B'irto looked at me apologetically before scootching off to the side where S'lem couldn't see as if waiting for something. I hardly had enough time to compose my face before S'lem's eyes shot back up again all of a sudden, making me jump. "_Rosen_?"

"Still alive, sir." The sides of my mouth twitched with a smile at his incredulity.

He collected himself with the skill of someone who'd done it for forever. "Since when did you ever call me 'sir'?" He wagged his free hand at me and to the side, said, "Without sarcasm, of course." He gave one of those little disapproving huffs of his, and I was steeling myself for a tirade before he reached forward and crushed me in a great hug. I felt the press of something else warm, and near wrenched my neck to see Sonyath joining in on the fun, the little dung.

"My boy," he whispered, close enough so that could actually hear him through the frenzy, "you've done better than all of us dreamed."

I let that moment lengthen and slide, and once his bony grip on me became too hard to bear, I started squirming. "'You're blocking the way.'" I said, testing my new prowess as an almighty dragonrider, and that snapped him back into place. He let go of me (or morelike attempted to shove me 'lengths), sitting down with another pissy huff. "Your name, young sirrah?"

I wasn't about to let him get away that easily. "Rose-in-field, old man."

He rolled his eyes. "Since you lack the intelligence to pick for yourself, I will do so for you." He scribbled onto the hide before giving me another you-are-dirt look. "R'sen and…?" His eyes went filmy like when he spoke to his blue.

_Sonyath_. _My name is Sonyath_. I smacked him upside the head for telling, and he blinked his baleful eyes at me in reproach.

He paused, cocking his head to listen before continuing on writing, a half-smile on his face. "Sonyath. How apt. R'sen and bronze Sonyath. Move along." He set a hand to the small of my back, touch as light as a butterfly as he pushed. I swear I heard a "congratulations" alongside it, but it was swallowed by an explosion of noise from the grounds. The entrance was immediately crowded with dragon and boy alike, and even I found myself climbing the living mountain's back to see what was going on. S'lem's yelling was a murmur in the shouts of "Look at that lizard!" and "Brekke, go for Brekke!" before absolving into groans and cheers. My height did me good at the last second as I saw Brekke reach for the darting whimsy of a lizard instead of the gold, her face looking almost human again. I never did get so see who the gold went for, 'cause Cosseth plunked his graying self in the entrance to herd us all in to the Bowl with a really grumpy S'lem leading.

B'irto tapped me, and I grunted in acknowledgment. "She went for Talina, didn't she?" His shushed whisper echoed throughout the corridor anyway.

"Talina for sure," said another voice.

The pack suddenly stopped, and judging from Sonyath's eyes spinning faster (if that was possible), food was on the way. With that thought, S'lem jumped on a ledge that made us all able to see him, and began to scream out names in threes, telling us to get together and gather around the buckets before the dragons turned to bones. B'irto grinned and gave me a lordly bow before running off sniggering to his new group. And as if on purpose, mine came right after,_ and_ since Faranth wants to see me boiled alive before she's happy, I was shoved into a threesome with Pell.

"These will be your barrack assignments until further notice. Group yourselves and do the introductions while feeding, if you _please_." S'lem seemed to be saving the best of his look for me, and I wasted no time facing up to the awkward and shoving myself next to Pell's green. She was a pretty little thing, big whirly eyes the size of the Dawn Sisters as she nosed into the bucket that a green rider I didn't know, probably S'lem's assistant (the poor thing), brought over. Pell stared pointedly away from me, which I was fine with. To stifle the huge rumbles my stomach was making in time with Sonyath's, I nodded to the other boy we were stuck with. His eyes were just as big as the green's as he stared at me. "You were the one that G'len beat up on all the time, weren't you?"

Well, 's one way to be remembered, I wanted to say, but ended up shrugging. "Yeah, that's me. R'sen." I held my hand out.

He pinched his wrist for being such a "tactless little twat" as S'lem would say, and I thought more of him for it as he gripped mine and shook it. "I'm sorry. The name's L'nato." He motioned to his blue, who had managed to fit his head in with the Pell's green. "Greedy little git, Naoth," He continued, his face warm. I snorted in agreement as I watched Sonyath trying to squish in on the fun, his huge head nearly those two's glued together. S'lem kept on bellowing stuff about watching out for the "signs of satiety," just as the green surfaced (finally), hiccupped, and sat down on the ground with her lids drooping. Naoth looked up too, backing up at L'nato's cooed suggestions. I kneeled so that I was eyelevel with the lot of 'em, picking through the already cut pieces and offering them to Sonyath. _About time_. He slurped them up, with no pomp, his eyes begging for more. As I dug my hands in to do just that, Pell hunkered down next to me, scratching at his green's eyeridge. "So." He said, stiff as a Skybroom.

I decided to break this stupid awkward while the iron was hot, since sleeping in the same room with someone who wanted to wring my neck for the next two Turns or whatnot didn't sound a wee bit fun to me, saying, "Congrats on Ladrarth. She's a beauty, ain't she?"

He blinked, surprise written all over his face as he turned away, a slow smile spreading over his face. "Yeah," he murmured, stroking at her neck. Her entire body drooped with happy gurgles. "Sonyath's something else, too."

"Yeah. Something with an endless latrine hole for a stomach." I held the last bit out to him, which he gulped down, staring when I didn't hold out any more. When I stared right back, he poked his great head into the bucket, sliding back out when he touched the bottom of it. _More?_ He sounded surprised that he even had to ask.

"That's enough, you hulk. S'lem said it was more than enough for all three of us." I nodded to Pell and L'nato, who were chatting it up.

_But they had so much more._

"It always seems like more when you're not the one getting it." Just like dragonriding seemed so much more fun when you weren't the one dealing with a whiny babe.

_Fine_. He turned his snout up to me before lunging at my ankles, nipping them playfully. _Be that way_.

I mentally crossed out the whiny as I grabbed his head, patting his nose as I felt my eyes droop. I rubbed at them. I certainly wasn't tired from all the fuss made in the morning, and it had hardly been half an hour since I got saddled with Sonyath. I peeled my mind free of his and found myself awake. So, it was him. "Sleepy?"

_Very_. S'lem stepped over on that word, peeking into the bucket before kneeling down to check Sonyath's belly. "Hmph. Not that it's actually possible to overfeed the kits the first time anyway. Go join the others at the lake." He nodded at me.

I looked up to see the area clearing up with that order. "Sonyath's sleepy," I managed to say through Sonyath's huge yawn as I trailed him.

"The others are too. It's natural. We're just going to clean up before packing them off to bed." S'lem slowed to walk alongside me, his voice hushed, "After this, you are to come to the Rooms. No questions now." With that, he scrambled forwards to yell at the others to stop splashing before he could "supervise," and before I could point out that he used a sentence fragment.

I joined the crush, waiting for my turn to water Sonyath. I let my eyes wander past the two splashing browns, settling on Pell rubbing grease over his half-asleep green. Someone else helped him, a full green rider judging by his knots, and I nearly flipped myself into the lake. M'low? M'low was helping out here? Now? I stepped in his direction, only to be blocked by Sonyath. _It's my turn_, he said matter-of-factly, poking me in the gut for good measure as he waded out into the water. I took a breath, held it, counted to ten, and let it out nice and slow. "Faster we get this done the faster you get to sleep, eh?" I jumped in after him, scrubbing at his hide with my bare hands.

_Exactly. Great minds think alike_. He held good and still for most of it, stepping out only to be shouted back in as S'lem swore at us for missing half the belly. "This isn't a game, whelp," he snapped, and I hunkered down on the edge to finish, my eyes fixated on M'low. He looked up from oiling the latest dragon, his eyes smiling as he patted another boy on his way. They turned, stopping on me, and grew absolutely huge. His mouth opened and closed, once, twice, before being covered by a blue hide.

I washed at record speed, practically pulling Sonyath by the neck out of the water before stumble-tripping towards where I had seen M'low—only to land face-flat onto S'lem's boots. He helped me up by the hair, glaring. "Someone is a little _too_ eager."

I scrabbled up a grin, drawing my words out long and stupid so that I had time to let my eyes rove around in search of M'low. "'s like I said. Sonyath's very sleepy." He put me down, letting me massage at my scalp before shoving a bottle of oil under my nose. "Share with Jaxom."

I turned to see the prettiest boy I'd ever probably get to see, and in tow, like a perfect pair of socks with no holes or dirt stains, the prettiest dragon. It was white and rippling with it, its enormous eyes all blue and stuck on his rider. The boy, Jaxom, nodded politely at me, gesturing for me to go first with the oil. I gaped at him, bowing without taking my eyes off as I turned to dribble some oil on Sonyath and rub it in even. To the side, I hissed to S'lem. "You said there were only five colors, old man."

He gnawed at his lip. "Well, it appears that I was wrong, wher-spawn."

"Ain't the first time. And what's M'low doin' here?" My voice got louder.

"Do-_ing_. Doing. And that is none of your business." And as a whisper, "The Rooms. Later. I'll explain everything." He scuttled off to mess with his other assistant whose Weyrling had managed to spill oil everywhere.

Oiling a dragon's good for one thing, and that's getting your mind off of everything else since it takes so sharding long, and when I was finally done, after handing the almost-empty bottle to Jaxom, I dragged myself and Sonyath to the barracks. It was hot, musty, and just as crowded as the candidate ones. More so, as there were three little dragons to share with. Both Pell and L'nato had beaten me there by their already snoring pair all curled up cute on a couch. Sonyath wasted no time jumping onto the remaining empty one, lying down. He batted his eyes at me like he had lashes, wheezing meaty breath into my face. I suddenly wanted to tuck in with him and sleep off meeting S'lem and whatever else he had in store for me but instead, I knelt down so I was eye-to-eye with him, patting his nose. _It was a good day, _he mused, crooning at my attentions.

"For you, lazybones. You get to sleep while all the rest of us work."

He ignored my whining, focusing on me with a single smiling eye, the color the same gentle green as before. As it slid closed, his thoughts, full of warmth and plenty, drifted into mine. My muscles literally went slack, and I felt my neck ease like there had been Belinda squishing it after a hard day's work. And riding on that wave was his final, bubbly, _because I got to meet you._

I stood there, watching him breathe for a few minutes more. "Love you, too."

I stepped out to go to the Rooms.

* * *

"About time," was my greeting from a snarling S'lem as he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and half-dragged, half-walked me towards the Rooms. I had to shove all my pilfered bread down the hatch to keep from dropping it, both of us looking like a professional pair of jesters 'cause my head dangled over S'lem's. He had to look up to glower at me. "Snuck off to the Feast, didn't you?"

"Mmhff." I nodded to clarify when his eyebrow shot up about a dragonlength.

"Didn't I tell you to come right away?" He waved me off as I attempted to speak through the half-chewed wad, letting go. As I rubbed where his bony fingers had grabbed me, he spoke quietly. "F'lar needs a spy. That is why there have been all of the extra lessons and chores. It was either you or B'irto, and for your connection to…" He hesitated, and when I stopped walking to get a better look at his face, he hid it with a cough, shoving me forwards. "…a certain person, he chose you. Which I find incredibly silly—but…we were waiting. Waiting to see if you would Impress 'high' enough for his needs. And you did."

The bread was a tasteless mush at the back of my mouth. I swallowed once, twice, finding my throat suddenly dry. A certain person. Impressing "high." Was that why they set up B'irto to get me an egg to touch? And what about M'low telling me to go for others instead? "What's going to happen to me?" I said aloud, more to myself than to him.

"He wants you at Fort. He believes that a few dissenters still reside there, spying for the…Oldtimers. N'ton is coming, not only bringing the Masterfarmer, but to take another prepared spy that has a smaller burden than you. You will be sent once Sonyath can fly." He stopped abruptly at a wall-hanging with glow light flooding through it, motioning me in. Even before I had a chance to lift the dang thing, he chunked me a hard one at my back. I sputtered, "Wh-what?"

"You do not precede your elders," he snapped with that sort-of-but-not-quite smile on his face, and I took it as his attempt to lighten the mood and tried to grin back, but my face seemed to forget how. S'lem shoved me through the cloth with no more ceremony than that, and I found myself face-to-face with F'lar himself. My mouth was busy sweeping the dust off the ground, since F'lar looked like he had been down with the Blood Plague of whatever-Pass-it-was or worse.

He simply smiled at my shock, turning to S'lem. "You're late."

S'lem inclined his head. "I apologize." F'lar did the same, swerving back to me all in one motion, as if proving that he wasn't a dead sack quite yet. "I am sure S'lem has briefed you on the basics?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Until Sonyath can go _between_, you will continue your training with the other Weyrlings here with the addition of 'remedial etiquette lessons.'" He met my eyes to make sure I caught the emphasis. "Also, if you receive any visitations from our discussed individual that are suspicious in any manner, you will contact Mnementh through Sonyath immediately. Which brings me to what he was doing with the Weyrlings earlier." He gave a snarky little wave of his hand to S'lem, who said, perfectly deadpan like a caught 'brat, "He wished to see Rose Impress."

"He could have been sent a formal invitation, _if_ that was all." He looked from S'lem's face to mine, and I think that even S'lem was ready to spill if it hadn't been for the watchdragon's sudden bugle. The tension fell back down to a big fat zero, thank Faranth. "That would be N'ton and Andemon. If you will excuse me," again that wave, this time dismissive. S'lem wasted no time scurrying out, but I kept on standing there. "Why me?"

F'lar looked up, surprised that I hadn't pelted away or something. Then, he sighed. "Simply because he is attached to you. You will, of course, refrain from doing the same." He gave me a look that sent tunnelsnakes down my spine, and I nodded. He returned it, glancing off as if listening. "While we have time, do any of his actions so far qualify as suspicious?"

"So far?"

I thought of his awful eyes as he hauled me to Ramoth's clutch, his haughty pose and voice as he flicked disdainful fingers at three other eggs, "Touch them. _Now," _his sneer in the hallway, "…wouldn't muck out stalls with your guts," his, "If you please" said so it pulled every last bit of courtesy from the phrase.

_Anything_.

I thought of his laugh gone brassy with life as he watched me wash Cosseth, "_I can see why _you're_ the favorite_," the flush on his cheeks as he turned away from me, "_A promise_," his snarl as he stared G'len down, his mocking, slurred words as his hair was shot through with fire from the setting sun, brow arched in jest, "_We'll have to see won't we?" _His muffled sob, warm head on my thigh as he begged, "_Take us out, please…" _Rats in the room, bracing for the kill—only to soften at my cry.

"No, sir."

* * *

B'irto nudged me in the ribs as he plunked down next to me with heaped plate in tow, a chunk of wherry leg dangling from his happy mouth. When I continued staring into space, both smile and meat were gone. "What's the matter with you?" He said, mouth full, "Ever since you put the bronze pup away you're off in some kind of flower land. Wake up in there!" He tapped on my head, once, twice, grinning.

_Tap, tap_. That got me up. I shoved his hand away, forcing my lips up for good measure. "Shut up. You're talkin' like you ain't got a leg without no Cabenth 'round to make you smart." That put him back into the mood, buying me time to think while pretending to watch him stuff his face. The lucky, _lucky _sot. Just because I knew someone, and someone that I didn't even _like_ all that much, meant that I would have to be chunked into some other land before I'd even got to know the ground I was already standing on. I envied him so sharding much in that moment, watching him eat and not care about anything else but the damn food. Just as I was getting around to really regretting knowing M'low, another redhead sprang in on my thoughts, poking at my sides with knife-like fingers. "Rose!"

Well, 'least I could always count on Favri for a laugh. "Hey, darlin'."

She giggled, plopping next to me with a smile big enough to cover all three of our heads. It disappeared all of a sudden as she leaned down to touch the cut I'd gotten on the Sands. "Does it hurt?" I opened my mouth to say I plumb forgot about the thing, but she sprang back up, rambling off all in a hurry, "I was right, wasn't I? Oh, why am I even asking? I saw him. I saw your bronze. Your beautiful, beautiful bronze! What's his name?" She crossed her legs like a lady, blinking big eyes. I snorted with a laugh. "Sonyath," I replied, "and you can keep to just seeing, too, I wouldn't want him knowing you."

She wrinkled her nose in rebuke. "Hmph. I'll find some way to know him anyway. Not that Papa would be happy with me. He's upset, you know, my papa. I don't even think he's in Benden anymore, he's so mad. And it's all your fault."

"_My_ fault? Weren't you the one that said I was gonna go bronze?"

Her lip curled in a pout. "I suppose so. But—_ooh_. I _do_ love being right. Even if it makes him mad."

"Why is he mad? Did he bet marks on it or something?"

"No—oo. He wanted you to Impress blue or green, remember? But…" She looked up, meeting my eyes, "he mainly wanted you to get a blue. So that 'it could be like a fairy tale, happily-ever-after an' all…'" The mushy words dissolved into her laughter, "He can be so silly, my papa. But all men are, just like Belinda said, when they're in love." With no further ado, she flounced off, giving me a coquettish little wave before disappearing into the feast throng.

B'irto leaned over on my shoulder. "That your girl?"

I whipped 'round and gave him the wallop he'd been earning all day.

* * *

"Good morning."

We all recited it the way S'lem had drilled us just five minutes before, with no inflection or nothing and the words spaced out good and even so it wouldn't all slur together: "Good morning, Weyrleader, Weyrwoman,."

That got a grin out of Lessa and even a chuckle from F'lar, "I see that you've raised a class of stiffs, S'lem."

He began to glower in the background like a great hulking shadow, crossing his arms as if he was about to pitch a hissy fit. She turned back to us, and we all stopped laughing right away. "I would like to take this time to congratulate each and every one of you on your magnanimous accomplishment yesterday." She inclined her head to us, her gray eyes smiling as she raised her hands in applause. When all of us kept on sitting there looking like sun struck wherries, she gave a gasp of exasperation, throwing her arms up in attempt to get us to join. Table by table we did, and it was finally getting lukewarm before she struck it down with a, "However," fixing us all with a look that was even worse than S'lem's, "be aware that this is only the beginning. Though work in the past might have been excessive or even demanding, by your standards—

_I'm hungry. _

"Quiet. I am too."

_But you have food right in front of you. Why don't you eat it now instead of listening to Ramoth's talk?_

I stared at our breakfast already all nice and steaming into our faces. I _was_ hungry now. "'Cause it ain't polite. You should be listening, too."

_To what? Ramoth gets to sleep in. _And off to the side, a quiet, _you never go for the things that are right in front of you_.

"—the workload will only continue to increase from here on out. Not as punishment or even just to keep your hands moving, but so as to when you finally need this 'useless teaching,' it will be there. So there is to be no shirking and no breaking of the rules, which are there for a reason, no matter how burdensome they seem at this particular moment." Her face softened, and she nodded deeply to us. "I will trust Weyrlingmaster S'lem to take good care of all of you."

S'lem sprang like his name was a puppet string, clapping like he would be set on fire if he didn't do so loud or stupid-looking enough. We all came in a split second later, and Lessa dipped her head again along with F'lar.

On their way out, I heard F'lar say, "That was surprisingly eloquent of you."

Lessa shrugged. "I'm in that kind of mood."

S'lem swept into the scene, demanding that all of us finish breakfast as soon as physically possible. I bent down to do just that, relishing every bite that I didn't have to take the time to blow on or sip like S'lem always made me. At our table, conversation was limited to passing food until L'nato gave a huge, lovesick sigh right next to me. "They're golden together, F'lar and Lessa, aren't they?"

"If you aren't gonna eat that, I certainly will," Pell motioned to his plate, which L'nato obligingly pushed towards him to continue with this stupid smile on his face. "Don't you ever wish you were like that? Settled, powerful…beautiful…like those happy stories the Harpers would sing."

Pell spoke while chewing. "There's a reason why they're stories, you know. And besides, I don't think anyone's going to want you after your face gets messed up by Thread."

"You got that right!" Someone else joined in, and that got L'nato all flushed with embarrassment. I sighed, plunking my spoon down. "I don't think there's a single person who don't wish that."

L'nato turned to me like a flower does to the sun, "Do you?"

"Yeah. But they're only wishing. Wanting something doesn't make it happen."

There was silence between us as he mulled that over, and we never did get to finish talking 'cause S'lem began to march tables out for the beginning of the rest of our lives.

* * *

Our Weyrling class, being "irritatingly large" by S'lem's standards, was cut into fourths with our fourth of nine led by J'ralt, a practically new rider himself. Probably because he was new, he had this clever idea for us to do introductions like doing the dragon toss. His eyes were dancing and eager, hands all grace as he told us what to do, "You'll say your name to your dragon without talking, and he'll pass it along with his own to the next one. Then the receiver will say the first's names out loud." When a round of confused babble went up, he laughed at our dismay. "I know it sounds strange right now, but you'll get the hang of it. Now, circle up." He nodded at me as we moved to obey him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you have the honor of starting?"

Shards. "'Course." My head had been up in the air, and I took the time to notice that Sonyath was the only bronze of the group as well as the most bored-looking. I concentrated on talking to only him, and he seemed to notice my efforts, perking up visibly and giving me a mental nudge of encouragement. _R'sen._

_You worked so hard just to say your name?_

"Quiet, villain." I'd lapsed back to talking out loud, and that got a laugh out of everyone. I groaned, focusing again. _Pass it on to the dragon next to us._

_Oh, to Petruth? R'sen._

"Yours too." More giggles. J'ralt's smile got bigger, if that was even possible, gesturing to me to continue.

Sonyath rolled his eyes at me._ The almighty Sonyath and his dung smear R'sen. May I eat now?_

I coughed to cover up my laugh, earning a play-slap from his tail while Petruth turned to his rider who faced me, his brow quirked in amusement. He spoke with deliberate politeness like he was trying to stifle his own titters, not that anyone else could tell through his rich-as-gold voice that said, "This is R'sen and Sonyath," not even sweating it out as he shot his own set back to his blue. The next pair motioned to him, "A'den and Petruth," and on it went. Some people sucked at it bad, like me, while others did it like they was talking same as always. Which didn't seem fair, and I wasn't the only one grumbling when the circle was finally through once. Like the scores on a bubbly pie, J'ralt made us mix up and do it again, this time without our dragons helping to see if we had been listening. That's when I got to wondering if this was even worth it since I was gonna high-tail it to Fort anyhow, and stumbled on A'den's name even though his had been the one I'd said the first time. By the end, even J'ralt was looking relieved as he led us to the giant, Gather-like butchering at a far corner of the 'bowl. The other classes had beat us there, and it was a crowded rush for the knives and buckets as the four assistants dismissed us to our own individual feedings. A'den was in front of me and managed to get the last knife, looking mighty pleased until he turned 'round and saw me, somehow managing to look even more pleased. "R'sen, right?"

For a second I wondered how much easier my life would've been if I'd stolen his vocal cords before figuring I'd might as well get it right sometime or later. "A'den and Petruth," I parroted, and that got his eyes matching the rest of his happy face. "Here," he handed the knife, handle-first, to me.

"You got it first," I pushed at the offer, but he gestured more firmly until I took it. "Petruth's not very hungry."

"Liar," I said. He shrugged. I went on doggedly, "If I get one I'll let you have it first next time." His eyes grew wide, and he nodded slowly, not quite looking away as he joined the cluster of Weyrlings waiting for knives. I held his gaze and the knife in my hand back and forth for a good long while before Sonyath's hunger got me chopping. It was mostly other bronze Weyrlings at the table and some brown, and I wondered if it was on purpose. B'irto caught my eye as he was holding a handful out to his Cabenth. "How was your first?"

"D'you hafta ask?" I hacked off an end with more oomph than I'd needed to, scoring the table. Sonyath jumped at the fresh mouthful, swallowing it all in one go. I tried again, finally pausing in my hacking to concentrate more. _Don't be so greedy in gulping_. _Chew it._

_I told you, I am hungry now._

"Hey, don't look so pensive. It'll get better," B'irto replied, dangling a hunk of meat over his bronze's snout. Cabenth jumped, worrying at it before tossing it up and down the hatch.

It didn't really, at least for a while. After feeding Sonyath and handing my knife with about a million thanks to A'den, I returned to J'ralt to be sent to the lake to wash and oil, S'lem breathing down our necks all the while with his instructions on proper hide care and what would happen if hides cracked _between_. After I got every last fingernail's width on Sonyath, I tucked the sleepwalking babe back up at the barracks, rejoining my class for the midday meal. Heaping a bowl to near overfilling with stew from the mess, I plunked down between L'nato and P'llomar who were both busy whining about how much they failed at talking with their dragons. A'den came over a moment later, looking bemused at their complaints. "It's hard?"

Pell gave him the evil eye. "For us _normal_ people, yes."

He shrugged. "It's just like talking to yourself…well. Part of yourself, I suppose."

We all ogled him until L'nato sprang forward, getting a rise out of Pell when he almost overturned the table in clasping A'den's hands. "Master A'den!" He yowled like a feline in heat which sent laughs all down our table, "Tell your humble pupils more, please!"

"I ain't his pupil," muttered Pell, but A'den continued anyway, grinning toothily as he rubbed at his hands when they were free of L'nato's, "Pretend you're looking at some Lady's dress at a Gather, and you think it's the most hideous thing you've ever seen. When it's just you, you don't have to say it out loud for you to be able to think it, but when you're trying to talk to your dragon, you _do _have to say it, kind of like you're imagining two people in your head having a conversation, except there's not another person. So, you're simply thinking the actual words _along_ with meaning, 'Faranth, her dress is ugly,' and only you and Petruth—or whomever—end up hearing it."

Pell snorted, unimpressed. "Craftbred?"

A'den nodded, smiling. "Harper Hall."

"Figured." He turned back to engulfing his soup bowl whole while L'nato was repeating everything to himself like he was rehearsing it for a skit. I turned to A'den. "What was it like, being a Crafter?"

"Oh, I had only just been apprenticed when I was Searched. I didn't have much time to become good at it yet." He didn't look the least bit regretful as he took up a spoon for his soup, dainty as anything. "I should be asking the same of you."

"Well, y'know. Holdbred, some Beastcraft on the side. Nothing as interesting as singing. You sang, right?"

He laughed, the sound as encouraging as Sonyath's croon. "Exactly right."

* * *

"Let's try again, starting with E'roi. The first rule of Weyrlinghood is…?" J'ralt beckoned.

"'Don't try anything unless told explicitly to do so.'"

"Good. V'len."

"'No harassment of any nature.'"

"Keep going, everyone."

"'You are not allowed to leave the Weyr without permission.'"

"'Always give the 'master and his assistants one's complete and undivided attention.'"

"'Obey instructions exactly as they are given with no deviation.'"

J'ralt had given a nod at each one, and it was my turn. Again. "And the most important rule of all is…?"

He had been drilling us dragon toss style since after us and the dragons had eaten, and at first the younger ones had giggled every time they had to say "the most important rule." But it'd gotten a lot less funny after you've said it at least a million times, and even A'den was trying his best not to look bored to death. The others were, too, and not succeeding. Faranth, we were even starting to use J'ralt's exact wording, and if that wasn't proof enough that we were sick and tired, then nothing else would. So, instead of his dull-as-dirt diction, I lifted my propped head from my hand, saying without thinking, "No hanky panky."

"Exac—well." He near choked trying to hide his laugh, scrounging up a weak, "…close enough." Several of the younger boys' looks screamed "What?," but I tucked my head down as innocent as you please, smiling at A'den's mouth twitching at the corners. J'ralt, after recovering, finally took the hint and let us out to move a little. As I followed A'den out, I swear I heard E'roi's voice asking, "But I thought it was 'unless one wishes death, all intimate relationships must come to cessation?'"

As soon as we were out, P'llomar thumped me soundly on the back. "Thank _Faranth_. I thought we were going to start molding in there…" then, as if realizing that he wasn't supposed to be nice to me, he straightened, suddenly busy contemplating whatever was five widths to the left of me. "Yeah. Thanks." He sauntered off, only to be replaced by L'nato and A'den, who were much less reserved in their teasing.

After what seemed like forever in reviewing feeding, oiling, bathing, and what the different strings dangling on people's shoulders meant, he set us loose for sup and to start making our new shoulder knots, the latter none of us hearing in the pandemonium to go get food. Just before I set a hand on a bowl, a grumpy Sonyath shoved himself into my thoughts. _Cosseth says to eat with his tonight. Oh, and hurry. I told you late._ His yawn echoed in my head as he retreated back into his dreams. I didn't even had time to curse before flinging myself from the line, shouting, "Latrine!" before scramming.

S'lem wasn't as pissed as I thought he'd be, probably 'cause I was panting and dripping sweat from having sprinted from one end of the Weyr to the other, and gestured for me to sit. I did, leaning back and breathing.

"Remedial etiquette. Leave it up to him to come up an excuse so trivial. For _me_, anyway. You need the lessons like a fire needs wood, not that we have any actual time for them. And on that note, lesson number one. _Look_ at your superiors when they're speaking!" He slammed a hand on the table, his pulp sheets and tablets bouncing. That roused me. Sort of. "Just when I thought you were gonna start being nice to me," I said, still lying there.

"_Going._ And not in your wildest dreams, _boy_." His tone suddenly softened. "Just when I thought a bronze would get to your head, you go out and win the hearts of three others without even meaning to. It's no wonder he picked you, even if it was for a different reason."

I managed to drag my miserable head up to look at him. "Didn't you say you were go-ing to tell me everything?"

"Oh, yes. Eventually. Well, everything is not for me to tell. It's for that _certain someone_, when he finally grows enough bravery to do so."

"They don't got seeds for that."

"Don't _have._ And no, they certainly don't. So, it is going to be a while before you'll hear everything, unfortunately for your small supply of patience."

"Even when you promise to tell, you still talk in huge circles."

"I never promised to make sense, now, did I?" He wagged an annoying finger at me, settling down cozy on his favorite chair. When he saw my sourpuss look, he exhaled, taking his time at it. "Fine. I will, ah, 'cut you a deal,' as you would put it." He leaned forward, his eyes drawing me in like they always could do. "If you swear, by the First Egg and Faranth and all the other silly things we swear by, to pay as close attention to me as humanly possible and obey to the best of your ability, I will answer one question per lesson. Clearly, without 'talking in circles.'" He settled back down, massaging at his knuckles. "Eh? Sound nice now?"

"You're going soft, old man."

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Now, your question. First, this time, before I give you more 'useless' things to do." He stood and began bustling all around the room, setting out food and utensils while humming some ditty only he would know. I watched his ritual, twiddling my thumbs while thinking about what I could ask. Sometime or another, he came back 'round and smeared some numbweed on my cut that had already scabbed "for good measure" before seating himself opposite of me, wiping his hands. I sighed. Sippy-time as usual. He broke the bread, handing me a hearty chunk. I took it and held it, turning it around in my hands and examining the grain by the glow light. Minutes passed this way.

"Why does F'lar want me to watch M'low? There's nothing even kind of 'suspicious' about him."

S'lem snorted into his _klah_. "It's quite the opposite, as he is very much so. But not in the way F'lar thinks, or so I keep hoping."

"No circles," I reminded him, imitating his finger wag.

He swallowed his mouthful like it was made of needles, setting his cup down. "Allow me to dull it down for _you_, R'sen. F'lar thinks M'low is the Oldtimers spy. In my opinion, he acts that way, but as a front."

"A front for what?"

His eyes widened. "You _are_ a deadglow. How old are you again, just so I can make sure my 'old man' brains are still intact."

"Seventeen," I replied, wondering why he was even asking. S'lem never wasted a word.

"Hm, never mind. It seems that they're still solid." He turned back to his food, muttering. "This way it's better, anyway."

"You never answered it!"

"On the contrary, I did." And he wouldn't budge to a single one of my questions afterwards, spending the next hour pounding grammar into my head like a miner did rocks. When he proclaimed me too sulky to learn, he tossed me two lengths of Weyr red and black cords, along with a pair of already made Senior Weyrling 'knots in brown and black. The loose strings I understood, as they were for the knots I was supposed to have been making, but the other I stared confusedly at. He sighed, "You are going to need those for when you go to Fort," and to the side, a quiet, "we have a lot of work to do."

* * *

I was having just as much trouble as everyone else trying to loop the two dang threads together, seeing as our candidate ones had been just a single white one with no fancy twists or nothing. A'den had dropped by after feeding Petruth and was practically making L'nato's for him while he watched with his mouth agape. Pell had already given up on his a while ago, looking like he was dozing on his cot until his eyes opened and settled on me. "Where'd you go at sup?"

I looked both ways, shifty like I was embarrassed to tell in a way that would've made S'lem proud before saying all shushed, "Diarrhea something awful."

He grunted, pointing at my pathetic work-in-progress. "You're not twisting in your color properly." He stretched, bounding over and whisking the thing from my hand. In one single motion, he pulled the knot loose and snatched the bronze-colored ribbon from my hand, working it in like he'd done it every single day of his life. Seconds later, he held it back out to me, all finished and about as fine as S'lem's triple loops.

I stared at it like it was a two-headed canine, taking it gingerly. "…thanks. How'd you learn to do that?"

He looked acutely uncomfortable for a moment, then shook it off. "Started weaving after I was left standing twice."

"Oh."

As he gave another grunt, A'den handed L'nato's finished knots to him and waved off his million thank-you's, cocking his head at Pell. "Why don't you go finish your own?"

P'llomar shrugged. "Don't feel like it," he said, as nonchalant as you please before going back to bed and ignoring the rest of us completely.

A'den waggled his brows at Pell's turned back, turning to me. "He's an odd fellow."

"Strange or not, at least he helped me out."

"Why are all of you so good at everything?" L'nato whined, pulling at his ears in dismay.

"That's an overstatement," A'den said, "Besides, you _must_ be good at something. It's not like you simply sat around and waited 'til you were old enough to Stand." When there was no response for a good long while except L'nato's blinking eyes, A'den scratched at his cheek, smile dimmed. "I do hope you're just pretending."

L'nato fell to his knees. "I'm doomed. I'm doomed, aren't I?" At his display, his blue shifted, whining slightly in its sleep. A'den sighed, "No, you're not doomed if you learn. Here, I'll undo the cords and teach you how to do it." As they bent to that task, I leaned back on Sonyath's couch and closed my eyes in attempt to touch thoughts with him in the way A'den'd showed us earlier. It was like sliding into a cool stream for a swim, the current sweeping my phrase towards him, _How are you, sleepyhead?_

_I was good before you bothered me. _I chortled at his sarcasm before his tone went serious. _Go find your own dreams. _He opened up a pit in his mind, and I rolled haplessly into it, physically aware of his soft, soft hide as I pillowed my head on it and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Belinda says that your only proficiency was in Beastcraft?"

"Yes'm."

"And, also in her words, you are absolutely not allowed to step foot in the Kitchens." It wasn't a question. I figured that it was common knowledge that I'd set fire to a spit canine's tail even on her watch. The thing had been hate-mad at me since, and would probably tear me limb from limb if I even put a toe near the cooks again. The Headwoman, Manora, chuckled in amusement, riffling through a stack of hides while the other lead Crafters of the Weyr coughed like they were trying not to laugh themselves. I just stood there, not even shifting from foot to foot like L'nato had at his assessment, even though mine was looking pretty much downhill from there. After a bit more muttering, they all gave up trying to sugarcoat it. "Well, it seems that your help will be limited to herding for this first sevenday. However, during that time, you will be assigned to the tanners' care in order to broaden your expertise." With the Craftsman's grudging nod, she dismissed me with a nod. I turned sharply on my heel and marched out. Faranth, it had been a dungheap of a morning, all starting with an anatomy lesson that'd ended with a written quiz which I'd failed and would have to redo in oral form. Which was fine and dandy, aside from the fact that they could've just made it a talking quiz to begin with anyhow. And then, there had been _this. _I sped up, breathing only when I'd made it through the door.

M'low was waiting for me.

Since I had a brain the size of a shriveled redfruit, I stood there gaping like a drowned carp. In response to my speechlessness, he snorted with irritation before getting up off the wall he'd been leaning on with obvious difficulty, shuffling on over to me. "Well? Don't I at least deserve a 'hello' from the big bad bronzer?"

His tone, mocking as always, was a salve, and I grinned like I hadn't in days, coming up and gripping wrists with him. His arm was bony beneath mine, and when I met his eyes, I saw that they were swollen and laced with veins with dark bags around them. He arched a brow at my scrutiny, letting go and stepping back. "Need a better look?"

"No, I—"

"Thread's been a real pain in the ass these days. Nothing more." He shifted subjects as easily as moving on to the next dish in an elaborate meal, "I'm allowed to walk you to your pet. So c'mon, we're wasting time." And softly as he began to limp, "Besides, Vivianth's been begging to meet Sonyath."

I kept his slow pace, knowing very well that it was him that was wasting time, but had the sense not to say anything about it. When I kept silent, he gave a look that read plainly, 'do I have to do everything?' "How were your first four days as a fledgling?"

"A pain in the ass," I said, with his same tone. That got a slow smile out of him, and he motioned for more. So I ranted and rambled on and on about the lectures and exercises all down the hallway, feeling myself relax. It felt good, _beyond_ good, not having to weigh every last word and analyze his replies, which were mainly agreements and increasingly inappropriate improvements on my insults anyhow.

"It's so nice," I blurted suddenly, and he looked at me curiously. "What is?"

"Not having to stick up all those fronts that F'l—S'lem always makes me do. I have to keep so much from everyone that the going gets hard sometimes."

"Mmm. So, I get to know the Rose that no one else does?" He chuckled, and I blushed. "I feel special."

_Higher, go higher! _I jumped at Sonyath's sudden rush of jubilance, pausing long enough that M'low even managed to pass me. _What's going on? _I asked.

_Having fun while you're not around. Hurry anyway, please? I'm hungry._

"You've already eaten twice today, fatty."

M'low stopped at that, supporting himself on the wall as I scampered to catch up. "It'll get easier," he reassured me, "Vivianth ate up to eight times a day her first month."

I offered a hand to him which he refused, pushing himself off to get going again. I eyed him, falling behind again. "You didn't mean Thread_ literally_ 'in the ass,' did you?"

He gave me a good, long look before replying, "No. Just been too long on the ridges, 's all. Sore, you know." A pause. "Oh wait, _you_ wouldn't." He leered at me, face so comical that I shoved him, and it took a solid ten minutes for us to get going again.

We finally got out into the Bowl just in time to see Vivianth spring straight up, a green blur when I did manage to see her before she disappeared into the sky. Sonyath had been hidden behind her, and I could see that he was enjoying himself, squawking and flapping his pathetic little wings like he was the one doing the fancy flying. There was a wink, and she plummeted, pretending to be limp before suddenly jolting to life, letting her wings loose so they ballooned with the air, and she glided down sweet and sound as a mother rocking her babe to sleep. She landed, striking a pose for us before turning to Sonyath's dancing, shrieking attentions.

"Beautiful…" I breathed, clamping down on my lips when I realized I'd said what Sonyath was thinking out loud. His mind was a huge flower field, pink and pastels and petals all over and reeking of adoration. _Someone_ had a crush the size of Ramoth, and it wasn't me.

"As incorrigible as always." M'low had a silly grin on his face, stepping forward to pull untangle the two from each other. He set a hand onto Vivianth's back, bracing himself twice before mounting successfully. So I could turn away and pretend like I didn't hear him grunting with pain, I took hold of Sonyath who was whining loud enough for ten full-grown put together. It was so unlike the time before where he was all poise and effortless grace, leaping onto the ridges as natural as canines barking. When I saw that he'd finally got on, I mustered by courage. "You get better, alright?"

He was tight-lipped as he nodded, dredging up a smile past his sore. "Stay sane, Rose." And with a sardonic little flutter of his fingers, Vivianth was in motion, hardly a dragonlength off the ground before winking out.

_She did it! She told me she couldn't and she could all along! Liar, liar, liar! _He did his little tippy dance again, dragging me with him for a couple of turns before he stopped, swerving his snout towards me. _Food?_

Poor Sukey. "Right away, master."

He rumbled, nipping at my ankles as he tailed me to the butchering. _Faster!_

After the same old, same old of feeding, bathing, oiling, I had to high tail it to the firestone lecture. S'lem eyed me as I entered panting, nestling in with L'nato and Pell. L'nato was brave enough to whisper, "Where were you?"

"Nursing a babe." He exploded into giggles, getting his ears boxed by S'lem right after.

Later, I was tucked up nicely at S'lem's weyr as he force-fed me "the art of spying." Everything in his off-kilter world seemed to be a bloody art, and I listened still, nodding at all the right placed and repeating stuff when told to, all the while watching the sleeping Cosseth with a green eye. He paused suddenly. "M'low visited you today, didn't he?"

I jumped, looking surprised at finally not being bored. "Yes, sir."

He turned back to his lecture, and I was starting to let my lids droop before he slapped his pointer on the tablet, and I blinked bleary eyes to "read" line five, which meant rule number six. Thank Faranth that S'lem always moved with his speaking. I recited, "'When answering a question, one must always recount the scene exactly as it unfolded, leaving out no detail, no matter how minute.'" I stopped, leaning back before he coughed, tapping the pointer again. "Oh."

"'Oh' is right." When I kept my silence, he rolled his eyes. "Well?"

I shifted in my chair, feeling seven kinds of awkward. My times with M'low were like diamonds to a gal; I could take 'em out and bask in their sparkle when I was feeling down, _and_ I didn't want no one knowing about them 'lest they came and snatched them away. Even worse was that I knew that if I lied about it too badly, S'lem would know right away. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "He had been waiting for me outside the skills assessment. At first he didn't look that happy to see me, but I guess he was just pretending, 'cause then he came towards me, smiling. We talked about my lessons while he walked me to feed Sonyath. We were slow, and I was late because of that."

He shook his head. "Though that gets the general idea across, you are supposed to 'recount the scene exactly,' like you just said. Again, better this time."

"M'low was out in the hall waiting for me. I thought he didn't look too happy, but he smiled and asked me if I was gonna say hey. I did and he told me he was go-ing to walk me to take care of Sonyath. He walked real slowly like he was in pain—"

"In pain, you say?"

"Yeah, from riding."

S'lem's eyes got big. "Do you think he was telling the truth?"

I thought back to him climbing onto Vivianth. He had issues doing that, but once he was on, he'd looked at least a bit more okay. So, it was a different kind of sore than riding, but I still said, "Yes."

"Why?"

"What else can I believe? I mean, he said there'd been Thread at Fort the other day, too. Couldn't that be it?"

"You believe he has the conscience of a saint, don't you?" His tone was flat.

"What?" He waved me off, beginning to lecture again. I sighed, tucking into my chair. Was M'low lying? And if so, why, and had he been lying to me all along? I bit down on my fist to keep from hissing in a breath. Why'd F'lar suspect him, and even S'lem now? Why did I have go to Fort just to spy on him and tell _them_ all those little precious moments that kept me from breaking? Why couldn't they just have picked _B'irto_ and left me in my own world where he _was_ a saint? I felt suddenly nauseous, wondering, just who was M'low?

"Rosen?"

I pried my mouth loose. "Yeah?"

"Pay attention."

When he'd finally talked himself dry and had began to set out the evening meal as always, I stood, making half-hearted attempts to help when the sheet-of-something came into my view. I moved when he pushed me out of his way, peering at it. In attempt to get my mind off M'low, I asked, "Why did you give this to me?"

"That better be for your question of the day." When I nodded, he snorted, gesturing for me to sit. I did so, and he broke the bread and settled back to his _klah_. Just when I was winding myself up for a long story, he said simply, "It suits you."

I waited for more in futility. "That's all?"

He glared at me past the rim of his cup. "If you'd actually _read_ it, you may actually understand for yourself." After a few moments of silence with no attempt to reply from me, he slammed his mug down, voice awful. "Do not…_boy…_do _not _tell me you cannot read."

I put down my bread, suddenly not hungry anymore. "I know what the letters look like. And I can sound things out if I try real hard."

"Faranth. Oh, _Faranth. _How could I not have caught this? How could…_G'len _have not?" His head fell into his hands, moaning in agony.

"I'm sorry?" I sat there, feeling uncomfortable until he snapped up sharply, standing and stomping over to a stack of tablets, tossing them each and every way. He gripped one, hand shaking as he held it to me, jabbing a finger at a letter. "What is this?" I took a moment to squint, and his voice rose. "WHAT IS THIS?"

"I'm looking at it, old man!"

"It's 'aaah,' you halfwit! Say it!" He shoved the tablet at my face, knocking my head back. "Say it!" His vehemence woke Cosseth, the old blue actually rearing to bellow a query. I thanked him for that, 'cause it made S'lem go limp, stumbling slightly before pushing the tablet without strength into my hands, sitting down with an air of defeat. He didn't look at me for a long while, and I thought he was even dead before Cosseth rose from his couch, knocking over several laden tables to touch foreheads with his rider. I breathed again when I saw S'lem reach for his blue, gripping him like a talisman. He turned to me. "We didn't do good by you, did we Rosen?"

"It wasn't your job. Besides, you're the one who said I'd have to get my own knife and fork, right?"

"How did you go this long without any of us finding out? I have told you to read before, haven't I? Haven't I?" His crushed tone squeezed my heart.

"I didn't really read them," I replied, "I'd just listen to Favri do it before me and repeat it."

"But there were times that I made you go before her…weren't there?"

"No. 'Ladies first,' remember?"

He nodded, face looking a little less grim. "Well, at least it's good to know that you have a decent memory. But we'll have to fix this sooner or later, preferably sooner, as M'low and T'kul could be exchanging letters of F'lar's assassination right under your nose without any fear that you'll find out." He patted Cosseth's snout, and the blue backed up, curling back onto his couch with his eyes on me. S'lem turned to another tablet. "Who else cannot read in your class?"

I muttered something, and S'lem started glaring. "I ain't no snitch."

"This is for their own good, boy. We _cannot _have illiterate dragonriders. I'd curse G'len a thousand times for this, but that won't fix anything. Please tell." He gripped his carbon stick firmly, eyes expectant.

I sighed. "I know that V'len can't. R'ry. M'kel, too." I thought of poor L'nato as he stared stupidly at the list of dragon parts we were supposed to be memorizing for our quiz makeup. More confidence-draining for him. "L'nato could use some help."

He scribbled furiously, setting his stick down with a _thunk_. "On your sevenday's break from lessons, you all will be attending class with me. Remedial reading ones." I groaned, and he smiled sourly.

"_On top_ of the 'etiquette'? Old man, you're killing me."

I saw his lips mouth, "I try," but it was drowned out by a bugle from the outside. Cosseth was up instantly, clawing past an overturned table to get out, adding his voice to the building fray. I felt Sonyath's mind awaken and drag mine down into his panic. _It's wrong. It's so very wrong. Stop. No. STOP!_

"What is the meaning of this?" S'lem was on the ledge, screaming at the blue at the top of his lungs. I felt my legs give way and clung to the table to keep from falling, bracing myself as I worked my slow way out to S'lem, who had frozen with the fear. Then, silence as I reeled from the seething mental collision with the Red Star itself, one witness to its disgustingly awesome glory while it held Canth prisoner in a web of endless torment, the floor cold beneath my white-knuckled hands. S'lem lost his hold and fell, sending me back down and boneless.

"_Don't leave me alone!"_

I felt a rush of wind from Cosseth's launching, hurdled back along with S'lem's lifeless body as others joined him, forcing my eyes open to see a massive carpet of gold, bronze, brown, blue, and green bracing a single bloody speck. It tumbled over and over and down, stopping in a cloud of dust as it hit the ground.

I closed my eyes.

* * *

"Canth lived, didn't he?" For once, Pell sounded unsure.

L'nato looked up from his brooding. "That means F'nor did too, right?"

A'den sighed. "Poor Brekke. Imagine, losing two more on top of Wirenth. A tragedy insurmountable."

L'nato blinked big eyes. "What does that mean?"

I continued to muck out Sonyath's couch, the bronze watching me warily from the side. He perked up as I finished, pressing his forehead to my leg in thanks. _They'll live. Brekke will not let them go. We will not let them go._

"Promise?" I didn't want to see S'lem's crushed grief again, and him pushing me out of his weyr after we'd gotten off of each other had been bad enough.

_Yes_. He leapt onto it, lying so that he faced me. _Sleep. You need to too. _

"I will," I said as he dozed off. With that, I felt the calm that he'd been pressing on me fade, bringing the anger that I'd been holding down sparking back to life. I leaned my shovel against the wall, heaving up the bin of dung. Normally I just let it sit there, but hearing the three of them talking like good old friends after some crisis ground on my nerves for some strange reason. I left, hearing footsteps following me. I tried to ignore them but after a while of walking, he cleared his throat. "Where do you always go?" P'llomar.

I didn't look at him. "Remedial etiquette lessons." Go ahead, say something snarky.

He sped up to match my pace. "Oh. Well, it's not as bad as me. I have to go to a general introduction class since I have no real skills."

Stopping altogether, I sighed. He slid to keep from crashing into me. "Your point?" I grated, not in the mood to talk to anyone, most of all him.

He hesitated, then let it rip in a rush. "I saw you with that green rider. M'low. If I were you, I wouldn't hang around with him."

I snorted, "It's my own business who I hang around with."

"Haven't you heard the riders talk about him? They all say he doesn't have a heart, or a _soul_ for that matter. And he sleeps with _anything_ that moves. I even heard two riders get into a near fistfight over who he'd been with, and another almost leap in 'cause—"

"Look, I don't _care_, alright?"

You liar.

His lip trembled, and then curled meanly. "Fine! Shards on me for being fool enough to help you!" He turned on his heel and fled. I stood there, watching his back for a long while before remembering what I was supposed to be doing.

* * *

Sonyath extended his wing to me, flashing bronze in the sunlight. J'ralt smiled, examining it closely. "He glows with health. You've done a fine job." I grunted, and he continued on with the quiz. My lifemate was soon reduced to 66 vertebrae, two stomachs, wingtips, sails, spars, and green blood, J'ralt rewarding me brief nods with every correct answer, even clapping when I'd finished. S'lem rolled his eyes with knowing in the background as J'ralt continued, "Every question right. I'm surprised…or were you just messing around on the written portion?"

I grunted again, and he took it as a yes, observing Sonyath while he stood and spread his wings fully, walked, and watched me as I fed, bathed, and oiled him. After another drill on health and curing certain ailments, he leaned back with a whistle and an appreciative bow to S'lem. "I can see the master had you covered."

I snorted with the irony. "I suppose so."

"Good. If you don't have any questions, please ask L'nato in." He turned away to restack tablets, not expecting me to remain there. After a moment, he glanced back. "Oh, you do?"

"Yes, sir. I was wondering…do riders get sore from flying a Fall?" S'lem sat up straighter at that.

J'ralt rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not any rider that would've been allowed to fight in one."

"So if they'd been sick for a while, they'd go out of condition and wouldn't be allowed to fight, right?"

"If it was serious and lengthy enough for that to happen, yes. Though most of us would rather wrestle felines than let ourselves become that out of shape. Myself included."

I could have just let smoldering bones lie. But, being the wher-brained dimglow that I was, I just couldn't. And now, look where it'd got me. He'd lied…and for what? To make me not worry about him? Faranth, I'd do that even without him trying to stop me. All he'd done was force me into this stinking waste-pit of uncertainty and that alone was killing all the trust and dependence I'd placed on him for as long as I'd known him.

"_Don't leave me alone."_

I inhaled sharply, bringing Sonyath waddling over. _You are off in your own place again. Come away from that. _He nudged at me, and I wrapped my arms around his thick neck, not able to touch my hands together. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course." He turned away, and as I walked out, S'lem murmured something and followed. "You haven't been the same since F'nor came back from the Red Star."

I kept walking. He spoke to my back, "You are going to tell F'lar this, aren't you?"

"Tell him what? That the high-and-mighty M'low lied to me about being _sore_? Isn't that a little too, oh, 'trivial'?"

His cheeks turned red. "In this case, no."

I sneered, clinging tighter to Sonyath. "You go ahead. Go ahead and tell him if you want." When he didn't move, I raised my voice, "Go on!"

S'lem's tone was so maddeningly calm that I wanted to strangle him for it. "On the contrary, this is your job as spy."

I stopped walking. "I never wanted to be a spy, don't want to be one now, and yet you're all still making me! Stop it. Stop it, _please. _I don't _want_ to be a part of this."

"This is not about what _you_ want, you selfish pup."

"I don't care, old man! I'd rather it be about what I want! _I_ want M'low to be a saint, _I_ want to stay at Benden…_I_ want F'lar to have chosen B'irto!"

"Unfortunately, F'lar chose you, and it is you he will keep to. I have tried on multiple occasions to convince him otherwise, and he has ultimately refused. It is your connection with M'low that makes you useful, and regardless of how it wounds your heart, it is that bond that F'lar will exploit for the good of Pern." He sighed. "This will save lives, R'sen. Don't _you_ want to be a part of that? You could be a hero."

_Faster_,I told Sonyath, and he obeyed, both of us running as fast as we could away from _that_.

* * *

"_Who are you?" I asked as he darted to the side, trying to weave around me. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!"_

_He stopped, his own dirty face agape as he turned towards me, beginning to hulk closer and closer. I held my hands out, a shoddy defense. "Stop. What are you doing? Stop!" His filthy fingernails reached for me, and I swatted them away. "I told you, you can have the sharding pie. Just take it and go." He jumped like he'd been branded, his blue eyes wide as he reached for me again. "I told you, stop!" I missed hitting him, and his hand brushed my cheek._

_"It hurts, don't it?"_

_I stared at him. His voice was like nails on sandpaper, dry and brittle like it hadn't had a sip of water in Turns. And even worse was how right the words were, how right everything he'd said fit into my pathetic little life. I saw his bruises, the blood dried in his nostrils, the glints of red that were the only clean bits of his hair, his dead, soulless eyes, his defeat and hopelessness, and saw myself._

"_Yeah," I said, "It hurts."_


	5. I Want You

AUTHOR NOTES: I laugh at my brave statement of "expect weekly updates." HA. Plowing through 50k words of absolute banter in the rare event that some of it might actually be presentable was no easy feat, and in the end, I realized that not a single bit of it was, fortunately for your eyes. Please (attempt to) enjoy. I would like to thank ANY OF YOU WHO STILL READS THIS since I fail at actually keeping an update schedule—one that isn't, "oh, let's shove a chapter up there whenever I feel like it, lul" YOU GUYS ARE AWESOMEEEEE--! In the future, I swear that I will try to keep an update schedule that doesn't resemble poo. Andand, if you guys have any Weyrling lessons that you want to see happen, throw me a bone, yes? Thanks again, and I won't have stupidly long notes in the future.

* * *

I, Too  
Intermission No. 2: I Want You.

* * *

I remembered L'nato's words as I kept running, running, running, not knowing and not caring where I was going as long as it was exactly a million-and-a-half dragonlengths away from S'lem and F'lar and their little cradle of steaming dung they'd built for me, remembering his dreamy look while saying, "…_like those happy stores the Harpers would sing."_ I'd agreed with him, then, but now to cover my hypocrisy, I'll say that I'm reconsidering my vote. Pell was right; they were just stupid, _stupid _stories where the hero never got kicked and beat down until he couldn't stand anymore, never had to be lied to until he didn't know black from white, where all he had to do _was_ want something and it all played out perfect from there. He'd get the girls, the fame, _everything_ without having to lift a single, sharding finger. I slowed down to wipe away the snot and tears that were streaming waterfall down my face, wondering when I'd gotten into the wrong story. That wasn't fair, now was it, Rosey? But then, what was or would be?

_You are your own person._

"What?" I looked down to see that head that I had been holding on to, gazing into those earnest eyes that echoed his tone. He cocked his head at my staring, nudging my drippy face with his snout as if it was an answer to my question. He was panting, not near as a hard as me, though, and I hit myself (hard) for not letting him breathe a little before stopping.

_You do not have to be a part of it if you don't want to be. _

I think I managed a smile through the griddlecake of ooze plastered all over my face. "It ain't—isn't that easy."

If dragons could shrug, he certainly did, rolling his shoulders and giving me a disappointed huff that put me in mind of Favrielle. _But it is,_ he insisted, _you just like to make it hard._ And with that same gesture, he swept aside his wisdom and my beginnings of a whine like fall leaves with a petulant, _I missed my bath._

As if on cue, my concern for him came rushing on in, badly uniformed and groggy. I looked around stupidly, leaning on a convenient trunk to breathe some more, hopefully buying some time so Sonyath wouldn't figure out that his rider had no idea what he was doing. From somewhere in the muck of my mind I managed to dredge up that one geography lesson that I hadn't slept through, but couldn't remember if the river happened to run by Benden or Fort. Same thing anyway at least to me, and before I drowned in my sarcasm I snapped back into reality.

"There may be a river here someplace."

His look spoke volumes, but I sensed consent somewhere in it and let him lead. He'd rather go back, rather be talking to the other dragonets, but more than anything, he knew that _I'd_ have to go back sooner or later, the former being a lot less painful than the latter. I refused his worries, managing to bundle all of that up and toss it, concentrating instead on not getting my face whacked off by dangling branches. The silence was companionable, punctured only by the rustling of two very stupid-looking wherries playing jungle, and stretching until we made it to the river where I told him not to slip.

_Tell that to yourself_. He said, smug as anything as he watched me test the footing thrice before gingerly tipping in himself, pausing with mocking caution before plunging.

I tossed a broken twig after him for revenge, giving up on trying to follow and instead, plunking my lazy self on the bank. The wet seepage quickly found my tunic, and I knew that I'd pay for that later with the smell and with J'ralt's and S'lem's and everyone else's reproachful looks. But that was later, and this was now, and I focused on it with a concentration that would have impressed S'lem. It was a beautiful day outside of the gray and brown dustland of the Weyr—green and alive and gold-shot with sun as the wind teased just enough to send the leaves glittering. The muck that I'd roused squished between my fingers, cool and as welcoming as the water I soon washed it off with, beckoning Sonyath towards me with that same hand as I set to scrubbing him. He closed a lid, then another, nosing onto my lap as his feet scrabbled for a hold. They held, and he topped the third one off.

_This is good._

"My greetings to you, bronze rider."

I froze my attentions, and Sonyath whuffed with annoyance and scuttled off into deeper waters. I pulled my hands back, suddenly chilled, and it wasn't the water. The voice was a lot like M'low's face, familiar, but at the same time unplaced, and that was enough to get me sweating and swallowing. I turned to where I thought it came from, nodding and taking advantage of my soaked hand to get the rest of the gunk off my face. "Same to you."

It came out all shaky and uneven and sounded every bit like I'd been bawling my eyes out, but the face that showed itself swept all that aside, tsunami-like. He had been standing really close, but I just as soon saw why I hadn't been able to see him. He was near blended in with the trees around him, green and brown and sun-dappled with life as he strode towards me in silence. I quickly marked him as a rider not of Benden by his knots and riding gear, but it was apparent—nearly too quickly—that everything else fit into another puzzle. The woodsy colors set his off perfectly, the deep brown of his longer hair and eyes, the gold in his skin…where M'low was stocky and thickened with muscle he was long and limber, and rather than fragility his movements gave the impression of a graceful, controlled strength. His face was clear of Threadscore, his features fine and sculpted and speaking more of well-bred Lordling than rider. What stood out to me most, though, was the warmth in his eyes, a shot of hard liquor in heat that M'low's had never held.

I backed away suddenly, and at that, he smiled. "Oh, come. Don't tell me that the first bronze rider to actually acknowledge one of lower rank without us first licking boots is a spineless weakling." When I still didn't move, he gave a pretty little sigh, "Here," He reached forward, a gloved hand outstretched. I stared dumbly at it, and at Sonyath's amused rumble, finally managed to step forward myself to grip it. His hand was warm through the glove, and it felt almost odd to look down at him, the same feeling reminiscent of looking down at a sick F'lar. Some people you just _don't_ look down on, y'know? "Sonyath's rider…of Benden," I wheezed, and at his cocked brow, added, "R'sen." S'lem would've flayed me to the bone.

If it was possible, his smile grew at that for some odd reason and he nodded, finally inclining his head in a gracious bow, "N'cah, Miyath's rider…" He gave a sardonic little grin and blurted much like me, "of Fort."

I managed a half-hearted smile-thing, and he said, pleasant as ever in response to my silence, "A pleasure." He shook my hand, and I continued the motion until he lifted his free hand to cough, eyeing me as if I were odd. I had enough brains to take the hint and let go, my arm flopping at my side like a fleshy glove. I stared at it for a few moments before looking back up at him and nodding like my head was set on a string. Crying tends to addle the wits—a lot—since maybe if I'd my full share of them, I'd start wondering what a Fort rider was doing wandering around this side of Benden.

At his millionth expectant look, I wondered if S'lem gave a class for conversation making and if he didn't, if he would if I asked him to, not that I had the time to be taking any more classes. At his waiting smile, I nodded and grinned and scratched the back of my head, pulling up an, "It's all mine."

"That I'm sure." As if he were tossing garbage aside, he whisked that topic away and drove into another one, eyeing my face with a care that his tone didn't have as he straightened, walking a slow circle around me like he was inspecting a herdbeast for sale, "It's still a wonder why he fancies you. M'low, that is."

I started twice before swallowing in an attempt to clear the dust out of my throat, finally managing a, "What?" even though I had heard every single world perfectly. I didn't quite get what he meant by them, or morelike I didn't _want _to get it.

"I thought you knew. Well, everybody knows, with you as the exception, apparently." His perfect face glittered with mirth as he turned to the side like he was almost embarrassed to tell me. "Of all the fish in the sea, he picks you. You think he'd go for something with a little more… sparkle, not that he doesn't have enough of that himself."

I swallowed again, not that I'd any more spit to do so, deciding to play the dimwit card, which was one I 'excelled at,' all the while trying not to make myself sound like a complete dimglow compared to his shiny words. Aiming for a casual tone, I made a tossing motion with a free hand, smiling and settling the other at the back of my head as I said, with false heartiness, "Oh, I think that M'low picks a lot of fish. Too many for us to know, y'know, since fish are for eating."

He laughed suddenly, and it was too loud like most laughs were. His was warm, though, tinged with a kind of fondness that Belinda had when she haw-hawed about Favrielle. And it went on for a good long while, long enough for me to start wondering whether or not I should've joined in and long enough for his dragon, Miyath, to come striding up to see what all the fuss was about. And she was a beauty, every which way like N'cah—sleek and leggy and green with it. She deigned to look at me, and I nodded to her, wondering where Sonyath was when I needed him. N'cah finally stopped after what seemed like forever, plunking against his green's side with a final giggle. "Indeed…" He breathed in sharply as if trying to stifle another round, "fish are indeed for eating. Not in the way you're thinking, though." He lifted a brow, cocking his head like he expected a reply.

I flushed near ten kinds of red when I finally caught what he meant, and he gazed up at me avidly, hiding what probably was a million 'length smile behind a hand, "Well, I wouldn't know," I murmured, and his jibe suddenly brought all that sewage I'd been keeping a clamp on gushing up, geyser-esque, "I don't even know _him_ that well." I wished my voice hadn't started shaking, or that he wouldn't hear it. And since Faranth loves me, he did, and a look of sincere, or what I hoped was, concern seemed to warp his features, and he stepped forward to pat at one of my heaving shoulders. "Don't fret. No one knows him well enough to know how many fish he eats," his intent tone turned bitter, and he looked away, "Not even me."

I took a deep breath and tried to get the stupid crying down. "You know him a little, then?"

"I doubt that anyone actually 'knows' him," He snapped, and at my wince, his tone loosened, if not his jaw. "But I suppose I do. More than you, at the very least."

"That ain't hard." I looked down at him, and he was smiling that same warm one from before.

"On the contrary, I'm thinking that it is."

After a mite of silence, I reached up and patted his hand to let him know that I was done doing stupid tricks for the day, and he obligingly let go, turning around and settling close to his green. I plunked down where I was, poking at some grass as if they were cue cards. He knew he had me interested, and I was more than probably what was good for me. Probably bored, I felt Sonyath's head shove itself into the hole made by my arm, nestling on my lap with his gigantic eyes on the other two. I brushed his thoughts, felt his contentment, and as if he sensed my lack of confidence, looked up at me and breathed a warm stream onto my face as if that could make up for it. I sighed and patted him, turning back to N'cah. "How did you come to know him?"

In the time that I'd taken to gather what wits I had, he had curled up against Miyath, the dragon's head lying at his feet. He teased her ridge idly, his eyes on her and thoughts elsewhere. A moment later, a slow smile tweaked his lips, and he said, finally, without looking at me, "We were Weyrlings together."

I jumped on it like a canine to a bone. "Really? How long ago? So you were close, right? Were you cotmates? Were you close?" I blurted it all out in a stream, but he didn't seem to hear the loud whiny part of my blabber, and instead continued to smile and draw invisible swirlies down Miyath's head. She cooed with the attention, her eyes lidding. Sonyath bonked me jealously, and that got my hand scratching. He said, finally, "A while ago. We weren't close. We were cotmates, and, to answer it again, we weren't."

Since he didn't seem like he wanted to talk freely about it, I pushed some more, all the while thinking of L'nato and even Pell, whom I'd actually managed to make un-hate me—until I decided to smear his intentions all over the nearest, most convenient wall. "How do you _not_ get close to the people you live with?"

He finally looked up at me, pillowing his head on the curve of his green's neck. His smile was fond. "Weyrlinghood at Fort is apparently more competitive and strenuous than Benden's."

I nodded even if I didn't completely agree with him, waiting.

He sighed. "There are a lot of reasons. For one, we were too tired most of the time to even think of socializing. For another, M'low has a rather bad personality for all his good looks." He eyed me expectantly.

"He's always nice to me." If that meant being a sarcastic bunghole twenty-four-sevenday.

"Wherries wave a pretty feather to those whom they like. And for the others…" He made a rude gesture.

When I stopped laughing, I managed to squeeze out, "He couldn't have been that bad."

He nearly talked above me, "He was as unsociable and surly as they come. In fact, he didn't talk to any of us for the first month. In the second, he finally started when K'nebel told him he'd have him horsewhipped if he didn't start acting like a human being."

"What did he say?"

His smile grew before his face warped into the spitting image of a sourpuss M'low, grumbling, "Just what is that, anyway?" At that, I exploded in laughter, barely managing to hear the rest of the quote, "Can you eat it? I could sure use some of that right about now."

It was so him, and as I shooed away a tear from laughing, I suddenly felt a keen pang for the butt of the joke. Sonyath gurgled, chasing that away for me. _Think of what you have now._

His head weighed heavy on my lap. _More like what _you_ have, you greedy scamp._

_Your lap is good, but I like my couch better._

_We'll go back soon._

_Good. _He promptly pulled from my mind again, nuzzling my leg. _I won't eat it if you hurry._

I snorted, turning back to an intent-looking N'cah. "Then what happened?"

N'cah smiled as he lifted a hand to rest his chin on it, a fond look on his face. "K'nebel took him out and thrashed him red anyway. It was good, though, since that got him crawling to us for numbweed." His tone grew soft as he looked away, the happiness draining from his face, "I loved him then," he chuckled, but it was a sarcastic one and full of a blackness that turned him ugly, "Still do, now." It was still there when his eyes were back on me. I swallowed, coughed, and petted Sonyath's head idly. He tilted his nose to receive it, pumping encouragement into me. "So, uhm. Do you hate me?"

"Hate you?" The darkness was gone, replaced by what I took as genuine shock and then a laugh. "I don't hold grudges over his, ah, tastes. But I'm beginning to see why he chose you." He snorted daintily, eyes avid as he smiled and declared, "You're cute. Not handsome, but cute, in a gangling, awkward sort of way…" He took a breath, looking into my eyes as he said, neutral as water, "Like everyone else he beds."

The grass suddenly became very interesting for the next few minutes as I felt the weight of his gaze. I cleared my throat as I scrambled for something to say, feeling the heat practically radiating from my face. I had to unclench my teeth to talk since the idiot card wasn't doing smack for me this time 'round. "I don't know what you mean by that, and I also don't think that M'low likes me…that way. We're friends. Good friends, but we're friends." At that, suddenly Pell's warning came flooding back to me a riptide rush, and I turned even redder when I thought of what everyone was assuming about us, of F'lar telling me not to become attached to him, of S'lem flushing when I'd told him about him being sore, of G'len beating up on me and him crawling away once M'low'd told him to. I looked up to see N'cah staring at my face, and the words came tumbling out.

"Bleeding shards," I hissed.

"I'm glad that you don't have his foul mouth for all the time he spends with you." His smile was gone, and that was good for him, since if it was still on I probably would've smacked it off. I stood suddenly, and that got a squawk out of Sonyath as he backed up, his eyes wide. My cheeks were probably some kind of red off Pern, but I still managed to look him straight in the eye and say, flatly, "He doesn't like me that way. We're friends. He's never acted otherwise and I would be much obliged if you carried those words with you to Fort and to anyone who thinks of us…that way."

"And to him? I pity the Kitchen's cellars for the next sevenday to come."

I lunged, blocked by Sonyath's substantial neck and nearly fell. I pushed at him, but like before, he was unmoving. My sudden movement got Miyath's neck up, and she reared at me, hissing a warning. I bluffed, "He's not going to drink or do nothing. He'll just look at you with those eyes of his and laugh it off like some bad dream."

His eyes pitied me, and probably M'low. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to believe it. "I wish I could say the same. Contrary to what you're probably thinking, I actually care for him rather deeply," His quiet voice and Sonyath's pressing calm at me managed to loosen me up slightly, and stopped trying to get at him like a pup to a bone. I patted at Sonyath's neck, meeting his eyes and telling him that I was okay. He whuffed, refusing to believe me by staying where he was.

"I think I'll leave you to reject him in person," He said with deliberate articulation, "since I'd rather not be the one he kills."

I forced my next words out, clinging to denial like a drowning man does to the last scrap of driftwood, "I won't have anything to reject."

He sighed, raising his hands palm-up. "I'm not going to argue anymore. You can believe what you'd like. Even if the truth is staring at you with eyes the size of Rukbat."

I didn't respond for a good long while, looking back up once Sonyath started whining in the back of his throat. I reached for him, and he came, butting my hands and enveloping himself in my arms. _You go to frightening places._

"Sorry." I whispered against him, not having the concentration to speak privately.

"That's all right," My eyes went to N'cah who had been patting his green, cooing encouragement as her eyes whirled back to blue and she settled back down. I'd scared all of us, including myself, and suddenly felt ashamed. As if he sensed it, he turned back to me, saying in a calm tone as if none of that had happened, "So, now that we know my end of M'low, what about you? How did you come to know our little heartbreaker?" He waggled his brows at me in a way that reminded me of 'our little heartbreaker' so much that I clutched Sonyath tighter. He whined louder. I stared into his hide as I spoke, my voice barely audible even to me.

"I'unno. It's really vague, really. There was that time I ran into him once he'd finished talking to F'lar, but then…I don't think that was the first time. I swear I'd seen him before then, else it probably wouldn't be like this. I think…I think I met him a long while before that."

I floundered, wondering where I was going with it. N'cah was polite; he hadn't said anything, derogatory or encouraging or otherwise. It was quiet for a few moments longer as I wondered where to go. "There was a fight, and I'd gotten beaten really bad. So…I went back to the crèche since I knew Bessim couldn't go there since he was too old, and…I think that's where I first met him. M'low. Except he wasn't called M'low then," I looked up past Sonyath's head at N'cah, and he nodded avidly, gesturing with an air of impatience for me to continue. "Rats. He called himself 'Rats,' I think. He was stealing my food, and I think he wanted to kill me since I was in his way. He was…he was so dirty and scrawny then, probably like me, and—well, I guess that's what stopped him, since we looked just like each other." Sonyath had settled again, curling on the ground. I went down with him, stroking his downy head and neck, the story spilling with the same rhythm.

"We just fell in comfy with each other, I guess. He acted more like a herding canine than a person, and it's not hard to take care of one of those. Easier than a person, at the very least. Then Belinda got a hold of him and started feeding him, he started growing like one, too. He didn't talk to any of us, though, just stared at our food when we had some and he didn't. He was good for keeping Bessim off me for a while, too. Just snarled at him like a mad thing, and that got him running." I was talking more to myself than him, but his eyes told me that he was still listening. "He didn't start talking until right before he…disappeared. He came up to me when I was about to fall asleep, I think…" My voice faded away. I kept petting Sonyath's neck, not wanting to tell N'cah what he'd said. I could practically smell his disappointment, but he kept quiet. I sighed, letting it out, "He told me that one day, someone named 'Marlow' was going to come back and pay me all back for all the things I'd done for him. And then he hugged me 'til I thought my ribs were gonna pop."

It was quiet for a long while before I started talking again. "Then he was gone, like that. He was there for only a month, I think. I guess that's why I don't remember it too well…" At N'cah's wide-eyed look, I forced a laugh, "It probably wasn't him, anyway. It's just that after he'd cleaned up he had red hair. And how many people you know have red hair, right?"

N'cah shook his head, a grim smile on his face. "No. That was him. I'm sure of it." He stared off into the distance for a time, then shook it off, standing and saluting me. "Well then, my bronze rider in miniature. I think it's time that you go back to your lessons." He shooed me with a hand, and I rolled my eyes at him, standing, "Thank you," I said stiffly, and he nodded, pulling himself onto the drowsy Miyath's back, "No, thank _you._" I returned his salute as he cleared the forest, and didn't wait to see him _between_. I stood there, staring at the ground and absently patted Sonyath.

I thought of M'low.

Sonyath ducked to avoid my hand all of a sudden, standing and stretching a sleepy back leg. _We should go back. I know that you don't want to, but we should._

"You should be the rider," I told him, slapping him affectionately.

_And attend the boring things where Palanth's and Cosseth's talk to you endlessly? No, I think you can be a better rider than I._

That was the reassurance I needed, the reassurance that I hadn't gotten from the endless pile of drivel I'd exchanged with N'cah. I sighed and stretched myself, worrying at Sonyath's headknob before starting to walk. "We'd better go back."

I felt Sonyath's smile in his thoughts. _That's better._


End file.
